


Fealty

by BrandybuckPuck



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: All of the little scenarios I've had in my head smushed into one fic, F/M, M/M, There will be smut at some point, and lots of pining, elves and dwarves working together???, oh so much pining and Thorin and Bilbo being oblivious, political intrigue!, really terrible fight scenes!, there will be fluff!, there will be some angst!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:03:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4978225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandybuckPuck/pseuds/BrandybuckPuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two months after the battle the land around Erebor and Dale is starting to heal and the kingdoms are being rebuilt. Bilbo has remained in Erebor to see the mountain begin to glow again. Though his feelings for Erebor’s king are getting harder to suppress, his new role in Erebor’s politics has given him a chance to prove himself to the dwarves who are still suspicious of a hobbit in their halls. But it will require a lot of assistance from his friends, risk of injury (or worse, public mortification), and of course some very Tookish behavior. </p><p>All Bilbo knows is… there had better be tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Albuslover8101](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Albuslover8101/gifts).



Two months after the fighting, the battlefield remained scarred and desolate. The ground was still littered with slain Orcs, though the rest of the dead had been removed and buried as respectfully as could be managed. Erebor was being rebuilt, her king and his heirs healing under the watchful gaze of dwarvish and elvish healers. Dale was being reestablished and homes began to be built with discarded stone, claw marks a perpetual reminder that some things would never heal. The process of rebuilding proved bittersweet for both the dwarves of Erebor and the men of Dale. The homes they lost would never be truly restored, but the memories and tales of the past clung to the future like an oath. Yet amidst mourning for the dead and laboring with efforts to rebuild, both men and dwarves hoped for a future more strongly and more freely than they had in countless years. 

A guard stood on the ramparts, looking down onto the battlefield, while those inside the mountain were preparing for sleep. Under a nearly cloudless night sky, near the foot of the guard, a small green sprout began to push through a crack in the stone. 

 

“Alright, I think that’s enough for tonight,” Balin said, rolling up the parchment in his hands. Thorin looked up at him and frowned, head still resting on his right hand. The table in front of him was cluttered with documents and lanterns, thought the light in the room had dimmed considerably since he had last lifted his gaze from the reports and plans for rebuilding. 

“What? I am nowhere finished with these and I still need to read over the requests from Dale before meeting with Bard tomorrow. I cannot stop now.” Thorin dropped his gaze again and continued to read.

“You will have time to prepare tomorrow, Thorin. Kings have to sleep as well, and this is the second document you’ve signed and managed to misspell your own name.” 

A snort came from the direction of the makeshift fireplace behind Thorin and he turned in his chair to glare at the pile of furs, blankets, and parchment. He could barely see the hobbit, for he had burrowed himself so thoroughly in the blankets, but the top of a curly head of hair, golden in the light of the fire, was still visible.

“And why aren’t you telling him to sleep? The hobbit has been translating as long as I have been working here.” 

“Excuse you but I’m not the one misspelling my name on important documents, oh King Under the Mountain.” Bilbo’s reply was muffled by the blankets and Balin rolled his eyes at the exchange. 

“But you are translating that treaty to make sure Thranduil isn’t deceiving us, so accuracy is rather desirable, dear Master Baggins.” 

“Yes, well as I’ve said before I highly doubt that King Thranduil would…”

“Alright, to sleep, both of you. All of this can wait for tomorrow.” Balin ignored the grumbling from the king and went to help Bilbo roll up his translations.

Thranduil had agreed to the points of the new treaty as soon as Thorin was healed enough to attend a meeting. Though the discussions had been tense and seemed on the verge of failure multiple times, a preliminary treaty had been finally drawn and accepted. The only point of contention that remained was Thranduil’s insistence that the treaty be partially written in Sindarin, as a sign of goodwill from Thorin. Thorin had refused at first, but in the end almost half of the treaty between the elves of Mirkwood and Erebor was written in a language the dwarves could not read. 

After the delegation Balin and Thorin had joined the rest of the company in a large room they had cleared to serve as a place to sleep and meet throughout the day. They discussed how the treaty would be translated, and both had come to the conclusion that they would have to ask Gandalf, if they had the good fortune of locating the wizard. Bilbo, who had sat down next to Thorin after preparing them all tea, had cleared his throat and said,

“I could take a look at it, if you’d like.” When Balin and Thorin had simply stared at the hobbit, stunned, Bilbo continued. “Well I know it’s really not my place and I’m not exactly fluent but… well my mother did teach me and I… well I’d like to help if. If that’s alright.” 

Thorin had continued staring at Bilbo for a heartbeat or two more.

“You never cease to surprise us, Master Baggins.” Thorin had said with smile, the fondness unmistakable in his eyes.

Bilbo had turned a turned slightly pink at that.

“Yes well, good. You dwarves need to be kept on your toes.”

As a result, Bilbo had been translating portions of the treaty from Sindarin into Westron to ensure they reflected the agreements and decisions made between the kings. When he wasn’t translating the treaty, he was assisting Ori in recovering and organizing the stacks of texts in Erebor’s main library that had managed to survive through Smaug. Yet at the end of the day, Balin knew he was more than likely to find the hobbit by Thorin’s side. It was not uncommon for Thorin to retreat to the library after council sessions and Bilbo would often insist Thorin let him help with the more physical aspects of rebuilding Erebor. Bilbo had an undeniable knack for dealing with the various delegates from Mirkwood and Dale as well and Balin owed many avoided headaches to Bilbo’s quick wit and skilled words. 

*****

The friendship between Bilbo and Thorin had been fragile once Thorin awoke from his injuries, both unsure if past hurts would be too deep to build a friendship around. Initially, Bilbo was preparing to return with Gandalf to the Shire. He continued visiting Thorin every night, helping with his injuries and then talking with the king until he drifted to sleep, until the first day Thorin was able to walk without assistance. The king had walked to the tent Bilbo had kept his bedroll in only to see all of Bilbo’s possessions packed. He had stayed until Bilbo returned from helping tend to the wounded. Though Balin had excused himself to give the two privacy, he had not missed the broken look on Thorin’s face when he asked Bilbo if there was anything anything he could do to begin earning Bilbo’s forgiveness, anything to make him want to stay in Erebor. Balin never learned what exactly had been said between them, but he had returned to the tent to see Thorin and Bilbo in a tight embrace, Thorin’s face buried in Bilbo’s curls and Bilbo laughing despite red-rimmed eyes. 

In the weeks after the battle, the hobbit and king had grown closer, until they were inhabiting each other’s spaces effortlessly. And for as long as Balin had known Thorin, he had never seen him look more at peace than when Bilbo was near. 

***** 

Balin looked up to see that Thorin had followed him over to where Bilbo remained buried in his blankets. Thorin caught Balin’s eye and smirked, pressing a finger against his lips to signal Balin to not alert Bilbo of his presence.

Balin sighed. Of course, as good as was to see the two so happy, they could be as much of a pain together as Fili and Kili.

Thorin reached down slowly, reaching for the edge of a blanket out of Bilbo’s view. Once he had it, he yanked, sending Bilbo sprawling across the furs and pillows with a squawk.  
Bilbo untangled himself from the rest of the blankets and sent a dark glare in Thorin’s direction, which softened into an exasperated eye roll when he saw that Thorin had doubled over with laughter. He grabbed one of the pillows near his arm and hurled it at Thorin, hitting him deftly in the side. This only sent Thorin deeper into laughter, and left Bilbo grumbling about ridiculous dwarves and their complete lack of manners. 

Balin helped Bilbo up, then gathered an armful of parchments to put on the table, shaking his head. 

As they walked out of the room to meet the rest of the Company for the night, Balin fell behind, as Thorin leaned over closer to Bilbo, tilting his head to try to understand the Sindarin words Bilbo was pronouncing. Balin could see Thorin’s nose scrunching in mock disgust as Bilbo chuckled and swatted his arm lightly. 

_And where would we be without Bilbo, now?_ Balin thought to himself, watching Thorin reach out to smooth an unruly curl behind Bilbo’s ear. _What would we be without our hobbit?_ Balin didn’t see why they would ever need to find out now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin just wants to sleep after a long day of rebuilding work but sleeping in a hall full of snoring dwarves is not exactly conducive to a good night of sleep. But there are some perks.

Dwalin was getting very tired of having to share a sleeping space with twelve other dwarves and a hobbit. Even in a massive kingdom beneath a mountain he was still crammed up against a wall with Dori’s feet pressing into his ribcage and a cacophony of snores ever-present. But everyone inside the mountain was restricted to areas that had already been cleared of rubble and that posed no risk of collapsing. The hall the Company had made a make-shift sleeping area of also served as a place to take their meals and rest during days filled with restoration and repairs. They were lucky enough to be able to have this space to themselves, that enough space had been cleared outside their hall to allow for all of Dain’s men to take quarter. Still, Dwalin would have preferred a night without Bombur talking loudly in his sleep about bizarre recipes. 

But sleeping alone would mean missing the opportunity to see his old battle-hardened friend, who he had rushed into countless scraps and a handful of battles with, smiling peacefully in his sleep with a hobbit curled into his side. Bilbo would somehow always turn away before he awoke and Dwalin didn’t dare disturb them before then, even if it meant losing the satisfaction of teasing his king. He had seen the damage a bleary-eyed hobbit could inflict on any poor soul who had the misfortune of waking him before he was ready, and Dwalin would rather not risk the safety of his limbs any more than he already had. Besides, Dwalin did not want to take these moments from Thorin. He knew the king was in love with the hobbit, and he knew Thorin would have to work through his self-doubt and fears before allowing himself to seek anything beyond friendship with Bilbo. 

After spending half the day lugging broken stone to the base of the mountain to be broken down or reused in rebuilding, Dwalin just wanted to relax with a tankard of strong ale and some warm food. Most of the Company would usually work for a half a day, return to the room to rest, and then work up until the evening meal, so the room was almost always filled with napping dwarves by the time Dwalin arrived. Dwalin would always find a spot next to Ori, who would greet him each night with a peck on each cheek and one lingering kiss to his lips. Today however, he opened the door to an almost empty hall. Dori and Gloin were sitting by a small fire-pit, rubbing a white paste Gloin had made for sore joints onto their hands and arms. Dwalin looked around, hoping to find Ori, but only spotted Bilbo sitting on the cushioned bench on the far side of the hall, facing towards the second, smaller fire-pit that had been lined with misshapen stones. It wasn’t until he had passed the column standing between him and the bench did he see that Thorin had stretched out next to Bilbo, his head in Bilbo’s lap, and Bilbo was absentmindedly pulling his fingers through his hair as he read quietly from a roll of parchment. Fili and Kili were leaning against the nearest wall, facing the fire and the bench, fast asleep with their heads tilted back and mouths wide open. 

Dwalin took in the scene with an overwhelming sense of thankfulness. The perils he had been through with these dwarves, for these dwarves. He had almost lost all three of them. Dwalin had followed Thorin through exile and into war, grieved with him, risked everything to be loyal to his king because Thorin was never just king. He was as a good as a brother, a bond forged through loyalty, trust, and respect. Dwalin had been there to see Fili and Kili take their first steps, hold their first swords. He loved the three of them as his own flesh and blood, and having them all here, hale and whole before him… it felt like more of a victory than the end of any battle ever had.

When Bilbo noticed Dwalin standing behind them, he smiled up at him warmly and nodded once in greeting.

“Do you want me to budge him over?” Bilbo whispered, looking around him for a space for Dwalin to sit.

“No, no let him sleep,” Dwalin replied. “Doesn’t too that enough.”

“M not sleepin,” Thorin interjected, voice groggy, but kept his head in Bilbo’s lap.

Dwalin rolled his eyes and moved to settle in between Fili and Kili on the ground. He heard Bilbo tsk in admonishment.

“Deceit!” Bilbo hissed. “Well, I suppose if you’re awake I don’t need to continue this…” Bilbo began, pulling away from Thorin’s hair.

“Don’t you dare,” Thorin growled, eyes still shut. Dwalin could see the corners of his mouth quirked up slightly and couldn’t help his own smile as he watched the two from the floor.

Dwalin had known Thorin all his life, but the Thorin in front of him, blatantly in love and content was a new sight for him. Bilbo returned to drifting his fingers lazily through Thorin’s hair, his eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated on the parchment held nearer and nearer to his face. 

“I would sleep better if you would stop muttering in that infuriating excuse for a language.” Thorin grumbled. When Bilbo ignored him, Thorin’s arm came up to try to swat the parchment away from Bilbo’s face, earning him a pinch on the arm. 

“Losto!” Bilbo ordered. “Might I remind you, you were the one who said Sindarin was dull enough to put you to sleep.” Bilbo muttered distractedly, keeping his eyes fixed to the parchment. Only Dwalin saw Thorin open his eyes a bit and study Bilbo’s face, his cheeky grin slipping into a soft smile.

 _Gazin’ at the hobbit like he’s the bloody sun._ Dwalin thought to himself, chuckling quietly. 

Dwalin closed his eyes to the sight of Thorin still fighting to keep his eyes open, but Dwalin suspected he would soon succumb with Bilbo’s fingers still entwined in his hair and the sound of the hobbit’s voice a reassuring anchor as he drifted to sleep.

_Thank Mahal for burglin’ hobbits._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really love Dwalin. This chapter is a bit short, sorry. But the next few are LONG so there's some balance, you see?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big big thank you to the two amazing betas, squire-reblogs and dragonbilbo, who have worked miracles on this fic!  
> There is a lot more to come so I hope everyone is enjoying this so far!

Ori had never felt more at home. Not only was he surrounded by books older than he was and parchments filled with maps and histories, he was standing amidst the towering shelves of Erebor. He had never quite believed he would ever set foot in such a place as this, yet here he was, cataloging the rows of ancient tomes as Bilbo sat at a long table between a row of shelves, translating the proposed treaty from Thranduil.

Ori spent most of his days reclaiming the library from the dust and rubble that threatened to engulf it and he was immensely grateful for the countless hours Bilbo had dedicated to helping him. Besides his brothers, Ori had never had a closer friend than Bilbo. The Hobbit would patiently answer any question Ori had on Hobbits, in return for stories of Ori’s childhood. They shared legends and poems that they thought the other would like and the library had begun to look like a library once more under both of their care. Ori admired that Bilbo was able to be brave and adventurous and still have a kind heart and a love for simple comforts. And Ori hoped that his friend could find a way to make Erebor his home, though he imagined Bilbo must have felt out of place beneath a mountain with Dwarves around every corner.

He bent down to pick up an armful of books atop a broken shelves and carried them back over to Bilbo and the table. He laid the books down gently and looked over Bilbo’s shoulder to see his progress with the translation.

“How’s it going?” Ori asked.

Bilbo sighed and put his quill down, rubbing his eyes. “Well, so far Thranduil hasn’t snuck in any secret clauses that transfer the treasury of Erebor to Mirkwood. Honestly, what exactly Thorin thought Thranduil would put in here is beyond me. Don’t know why I agreed to this.”

Because you love him. Ori thought with a knowing smile. He patted Bilbo on the shoulder and turned back to the shelves, wondering if it was getting near the time to head back to the Company room for the mid-day meal and rest.

He was just about to ask Bilbo if he was getting hungry, when the door to the library opened and Thorin walked in. Ori chuckled. Thorin visited Bilbo in the library almost daily, whenever he had time between meetings with advisors or delegates or working with the rest of the Dwarves in rebuilding. Sometimes the two would discuss whatever was new that day, and some days Thorin would ask Bilbo about the Shire and Hobbits and Bilbo would ask about Dwarves and Thorin’s childhood. He managed never to be too prying, but Thorin didn’t seem to mind telling Bilbo about the years before Smaug. And sometimes Thorin would simply pull the lone surviving armchair next to wherever Bilbo was working and read whatever book Bilbo handed to him. Those were the days Ori loved, because he could see how much comfort the two gave to each other, even in complete silence.

“Hello, Your Majesty,” Ori greeted the King with a small bow and a smile.

“Good afternoon, Master Ori.” Thorin replied, with a nod. “Though I thought we agreed titles were unnecessary among the Company?” He smiled down at Ori. Ori noticed that no crown rested on Thorin’s head and he wore no ornate robes; so Ori assumed he had been working on rebuilding with the rest of the Company this morning.

“Oh! Yes, of course,” Ori smiled back as Thorin clapped him on the shoulder once before motioning for Ori to walk further into the library with him.

“I hope the library has not been too great a challenge, Ori. If you should require any more assistance, do not hesitate to ask for it. Smaug may not have wreaked as much havoc here, but I know it still must be quite a task to restore such a space after so many years of neglect.”

“Yes, well Smaug certainly was not the best caretaker,” Ori sighed. There were many tomes that were past any restoration effort and he mourned the loss of the knowledge they held. But there was so much that could be salvaged and Ori woke each morning eager to get back to the library. “And really, Bilbo has been more than enough help. If he hadn’t helped me figure out how to catalog everything, I’m sure I would still be overwhelmed. He’s even been helping me learn Sindarin.”

Ori wondered if maybe bringing up Sindarin around the King wasn’t the brightest idea but out of the corner of his eye he could see Thorin only had a look of fondness on his face.

 _Bilbo, for someone so clever you certainly do miss the most obvious things._ , Ori thought with a small smirk.

He heard Thorin clear his throat before asking, “And where is our burglar? Both of your meals have been ready for some time now and we can only fend Fíli and Kíli off for so long.”

Ori giggled and pointed to the row of shelves that opened into the space for the table Bilbo was sitting at. Bilbo looked up when they came into view and when he saw Thorin, his entire face lit up with a smile. Ori pretended he hadn’t heard the hitch in Thorin’s breath and instead chose the moment to study a book on the table very intently.

“You’re late for a meal, Hobbit, and I cannot fathom a possible reason for such an occurrence.” Thorin said crossing his arms in mock solemnity.

Bilbo’s smile shifted into a glare for a second before Ori saw the glint of mischief in his eyes. Bilbo picked up the roll of parchment he had been studying and held it near his face before he said, “Oh, there’s just something in the treaty I found quite interesting, and I must have lost track of time. I didn’t know you had promised Fíli’s hand in marriage to Thranduil’s son. Does he know about this yet?”

“What?!” Thorin nearly tripped on a table leg to grab for the treaty but Bilbo pulled it out of the way just in time and smiled gleefully up at Thorin now standing behind his chair.

“Kidding, kidding. I am finished though. The treaty follows everything that you accepted, King Thranduil didn’t sneak in any secret marriage clauses.” Bilbo got up and stretched, as Thorin shifted his bewildered gaze between the treaty and Bilbo.

“Wicked Hobbit! That was not funny.” Bilbo shot Ori a look and Ori had to stifle a laugh behind his mittens. “How have you managed to translate all this so quickly?”

“Thorin, it took me nearly two weeks, I would hardly consider that quick.” Bilbo picked up his jacket from the back of his chair and began rolling the parchment of the treaty up. “Besides, when I’m allowed a bit of peace and quiet away from a Dwarf King and all his distractions, I’m quite capable of getting things done, thank you very much.” Bilbo ended his speech with a sniff and a hint of smugness on his face.

“Oh, I’m distracting, am I?” Thorin shot back, and Ori resisted the urge to smack his own forehead when Bilbo blushed bright red. He had scolded Nori just that morning for complaining about “being tired of Bilbo and Thorin makin’ moon eyes at each other without even realizin’ it” but now he was beginning to agree.

“Distractingly obnoxious, you ridiculous Dwarf!” Bilbo said as he swatted Thorin with the rolled up parchment. “Are you trying to keep me and Ori from our meal or may we leave now, Your Majesty?”

Thorin just chuckled and straightened the collar of Bilbo’s jacket. “I do not have a death wish, no. Bring the treaty, Balin will be glad to see it finished.”

Bilbo nodded and began to tidy up the stacks of books and papers on the desk, shooing away Thorin as he tried to help. But Thorin, with a glint in his eye, kept rearranging the books and getting in the way until Bilbo made a defeated sound and shoved him out the door, threatening to add the marriage clause in the treaty himself if Thorin didn’t start behaving. Thorin laughed and held the door open for Bilbo and then waited for Ori to finish gathering his papers. But his eyes followed Bilbo as he continued down the corridor.  
Ori had always liked poetry, had always appreciated how Dwarves and Men and even Elves had found a way to distill love into a few words, and he had always wondered what those words really felt like; what they would be like in real life. But seeing the wistful smile on the face of the King in front of him, still holding open the door, eyes fixed to the Hobbit as a traveller to a guiding star, he was beginning to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ori's love for books and writing makes me so happy so I thought his favorite place in Erebor would most likely be the library. It's his domain and if anyone messes up a book from the collections, they have to answer to Ori.


	4. Chapter 4

It had not been a full hour since breakfast and Balin already needed a stiff drink. Everything that could have gone wrong in the few short hours he had been awake had either already gone wrong or was well on its way. 

He had woken up later than he had intended, as had Thorin, so both had to rush through dressing and eating in order to greet Thranduil and Bard for a meeting. Thranduil had requested Bilbo’s attendance as well, once he had heard that Bilbo was translating the treaty, but a messenger had just informed Balin that Bilbo had needed to help Ori to the infirmary after a small bookshelf had collapsed on him, and would be delayed in his arrival. 

The meeting itself had gone fairly smoothly; it seemed all parties simply wanted cooperative trade agreements and peace and were willing to seek common ground. The atmosphere between the Kings was of course still strained, especially between 

Thranduil and Thorin, but all three realized that the longer they clung to the bitterness of the past, the more likely the past would cling to them, and drag them all down to ruin. But Bard had left as soon as the treaty had been formally signed, apologizing for his haste, but rebuilding campaigns were in full swing and he wanted to be present for the planning. 

So now only Balin and Thorin remained in the meeting hall with Thranduil, and the tension was palpable. Thorin sat with his arms crossed, a stormy glare across his brow as Thranduil towered in his seat across the table, hands resting on the arms of his chair, his guards hovering in the background. There were still a few matters to discuss but with Bard gone, the two Kings had become visibly less amiable. At least in Thorin’s case. Thranduil still retained the look of serene boredom that he had entered the hall with.

“The offer of seeds for crop is very generous, Your Highness, though it may be many months before the land will support new growth. I fear we will need to rely on trade for the foreseeable future.” Balin said, before Thorin could subtly insult Thranduil’s wardrobe again.

“Yes, of course,” Thranduil replied. He stood and walked languidly to the middle of the table where a pitcher of water and some glasses had been placed. “Dale will also require a steady flow of resources for the time being, which will of course burden my lands until trade can become more equitable. I’m sure you can understand why I would want both of your kingdoms to become more sustainable?”

Thorin’s glare deepened but his retort was cut off by a knock on the door. Once the Elven guards opened it, Bilbo walked in, pink cheeked and slightly dusty.

“So sorry I’m late! Ori will be fine besides a nasty bruise on his side,” Bilbo said as he walked towards the table. “Oh, King Thranduil! _Le suilon!_ ” 1

Bilbo bowed and to Balin’s surprise Thranduil smiled back at the Hobbit and crossed a hand over his heart before extending it towards Bilbo in greeting.

“Master Baggins. _Ni gellweg an gin cened._ ” 2

“Likewise, Your Majesty,” Bilbo replied with a bright smile. Balin could feel Thorin tensing next to him and when Thranduil offered Bilbo the seat next to him, Balin had to nudge Thorin’s foot to get him to calm the severity of his glare. Bilbo smiled and nodded towards Balin and Thorin but frowned in confusion when he caught Thorin’s expression.

“Your translation of the treaty is quite remarkable, Master Baggins. Though it was unnecessary for the task to be performed…” Thranduil glanced in Thorin’s direction. “I am, nevertheless, impressed. If I might ask, where did you learn Sindarin?”

“That’s very kind. My mother taught me when I was young. I am certainly not fluent, but it is such a beautiful language. It always reminds me of her now.”

Thranduil hummed in response, giving Bilbo a considering look.

“Would you care to walk with me, Master Baggins? I would very much like to see the library I hear you have been laboring in. That is of course, if it is all right with King Thorin?” 

Thorin held Thranduil’s gaze coolly but then shifted his gaze to Bilbo, and Balin thought he saw a flicker of worry in his eyes.

“That is Master Baggins’ choice to make,” Thorin said. Bilbo once again looked at Thorin with confusion, but turned to Thranduil with an easy smile.

“It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty.” Bilbo said as he stood with Thranduil. “I’ll see you two this evening?” Bilbo questioned Thorin and Balin who had stood as well.

When Thorin didn’t respond Balin said, “Of course, laddie. Take care. Thank you for your time, King Thranduil. We would be honoured if you were to join us in the Mountain this evening for dinner.”

Thranduil glanced down at Bilbo with a smile before nodding once to Balin and Thorin. “Yes, I think I will, thank you.” He said, before gesturing Bilbo to the door.  
They continued to walk straight down the hall, and with the door left open behind them, Balin saw Bilbo laugh at something Thranduil said. Balin winced, hoping that had escaped Thorin’s notice. He had to admit, the Hobbit certainly handled the Elvenking very well, even if it set Thorin on edge. Bilbo had proved many times, on the quest and later during the chaos after the battle, that not only was he quick-witted and eloquent, he was also calm and calculating; all the makings of a successful diplomat. The Hobbit was also fond and knowledgeable of elvish culture, and was certainly better at communicating with Thranduil and the other Mirkwood Elves than any Dwarf in Erebor…

“Bilbo gets along with him very well, don’t you think?” Balin began as he rose from his chair and ran his fingers through his beard.

Balin knew he was prodding a smoldering ember but this needed to be addressed. Thorin had only given Balin a “humph” in response, but he continued anyway.

“The lad is quite fond of Elves. Not to mention he’s already proved his skill in Sindarin. And King Thranduil seems to enjoy his company…”

“What’s your point, Balin?” Thorin almost growled, still staring down the hall where Bilbo and Thranduil had walked out of sight.

Balin shrugged and walked to the center of the table to pour Thorin and himself a glass of water. He handed the glass to Thorin, aware that Thorin was now directing his glare on him.

“Balin, what are you scheming?”

Balin cleared his throat.

“I think it would be wise to have Bilbo be more involved in our discussions with Mirkwood. And Elves in general for that matter, though we have scarcely heard from Rivendell yet. I do suspect that will change soon though. And it would be helpful to have someone more comfortable with Elves as our emissary to them, don’t you think?”  
Thorin had started shaking his head as soon as the suggestion had left Balin’s lips.

“No, no absolutely not. Thranduil has cooperated so far but I still do not trust him. I will not risk Bilbo by putting him in that situation.”

“Situation? What are you expecting King Thranduil to do, kidnap him?”

Thorin shot Balin one of his Very Important Glares, but Balin stood his ground. He knew the real reason behind Thorin’s apprehension. Bilbo was more than capable of handling himself in demanding circumstances and his wit had saved the Company on more than one occasion. Thorin needed to accept that Thranduil was going to become a valuable ally, and though he didn’t need to like him, he couldn’t let that dislike remove opportunities for Erebor to continue to grow.

“Thorin, you know Bilbo is perfect for this. Is it possible you are more disappointed Bilbo enjoys Thranduil’s company?”

Balin was expecting an indignant denial from Thorin but was surprised to see Thorin drop his gaze to his hands. It was a few moments before he replied quietly.

“You saw how enamoured he was in Rivendell. If he is to spend more time with them, I do not see why he would choose to stay in Erebor over remaining among Elves.”  
Balin looked at Thorin, a bit taken aback by his admission. He smiled fondly at his King and friend, still studying the table, and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“If you think Bilbo does not love Erebor as his own home, then you are blind, laddie.” Thorin looked up at this, searching Balin’s face. “Our Hobbit may be fond of Elves, and he is free to leave, if he wishes. But you need to have a bit more faith in him. He would not leave Erebor, not when his heart so clearly belongs here. You will just have to trust him.”

Thorin continued to search Balin’s face, as if weighing the truth in his words, before dropping his gaze again.

“I do,” he said softly before taking a deep breath and sighing. “I will think on it, Balin. I appreciate your wisdom on this.” Thorin stood and placed his own hand on Balin’s shoulder. “I think I will walk for a bit before dinner.”

Balin nodded his head in a quick bow and smiled warmly at Thorin. Thorin returned the nod before walking towards the doorway, hands linked behind his back.

Before he had passed through the arch, he looked back at Balin.

“You truly believe Bilbo thinks of Erebor as his home?”

Balin simply titled his head and gave Thorin a knowing look. Balin could see the hope in Thorin’s eyes, could hear it in his tone of voice. Thorin nodded once more and turned left down the hallway.

_Of course he does. Balin thought as he left. Erebor is his home, as is the King who sits on her throne._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 I greet you!  
> 2 I am joyful for seeing you


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin takes a late-night stroll and finds something surprising on the side of the mountain. So of course, his reaction is to wake a sleeping Hobbit.

The wind was soft and cool against Thorin’s face and through his hair as he walked along the ramparts. He had woken as the night had begun to fade into morning, casting the side of Erebor and the field below her in a softening blue. From the ramparts Thorin could faintly see the glow of lanterns from Dale begin to be lit from the windows of makeshift houses. He had been to Dale two days ago to meet with Bard and had been impressed by the amount of progress the city had made to become habitable again. Thorin knew the future for the Men in that city was far from certain, but they had a good man as a leader and Thorin would see to it that they never lacked for coin, not after…

*****  
_Concern and confusion on the faces of his nephews, Balin’s words hollow in his ears, the pulsing of his heart pushing out all meaning to the imploring gold, gold, gold._

_Fear and pain in Bilbo’s eyes as Thorin’s own hands squeezed against his neck, dangling him from the ramparts. After everything Bilbo had become to him, his life was in his hands, and all Thorin had to do was let go._

_The desperation in Bard’s eyes as Thorin refused the gold he had promised. The fear he had felt for his own people for almost all his life._

Thorin shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He could not let himself be consumed by the guilt and shame that festered in his mind.

_“You are changed, Thorin! The Dwarf I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word! Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin!”_

That was true. Thorin had been changed, but he never believed he could leave it at that, he knew it wasn’t that simple. The same Dwarf that had led his own family to a hopeless war over a room of gold, the same Dwarf that had betrayed those who had helped him, the same Dwarf who had turned against his own heart, banished it from him in a fit of rage and betrayal, was the same Dwarf now walking on the stone of his reclaimed home. The dragon sickness was a parasite, it could not feed off of what was not already there. But Thorin also remembered how it felt like a war was being raged in his mind. Even in the deepest phase of the sickness Thorin still felt like a part of him was being drowned, still clawing for the surface. There was still a part of him awake during the haze of the gold lust, screaming against every action he made, every accusation he threw at his own Company.

He had woken up in a tent after the battle, covered in bandages, and he remembered the pain. The pain was everywhere, but he was too exhausted to truly acknowledge it. He tried to remember what happened after he had killed that orc filth and stood on the ice, watching the eagles swoop in on the battlefield below before collapsing.

And then, Bilbo had been there. _Why had he come back?_ Bilbo had held his hand, blood smeared on the side of his face from a gouge on his head. Had he fought in the battle? He remembered hearing Bilbo’s voice in his head, begging him to hold on, _“Thorin look at me, please, no, no, no, don’t you dare. Thorin, don’t move, just look at me.”_ He remembered thinking there was no need for Bilbo to tell him that since Thorin never wanted to look away from Bilbo. Why would I ever look away from you? He remembered realizing that Bilbo could be happy now, he could go home and be safe, away from war and broken Kings. He remembered trying to hold as much of the warmth in Bilbo’s hands to his own for as long as could, content to have only that with him as he entered the Halls of Waiting.

And then he had woken up with the pain and the exhaustion, only to have everything be numbed by the sight of Bilbo’s unkempt curls from where his head was resting on the edge of Thorin’s cot. And almost every time Thorin awoke after that, Bilbo had still been there. He had read to him every night, assisted the healers with his bandages, and held Thorin’s head as he sipped tea and broth when he was too weak to do so alone. Bilbo’s voice had floated seamlessly between Thorin’s dreams and consciousness, and when Thorin wasn’t planning for Erebor’s rebuilding, he was planning on how to begin earning Bilbo’s trust back, or at least his forgiveness. Thorin could see the hurt behind Bilbo’s eyes, even when he was smoothing Thorin’s hair back or trying to make the Dwarf laugh with tales of his childhood shenanigans in the Shire.

The first chance had come weeks later, when Thorin was able to stand and walk on his own, though Balin had continued to hover by Thorin, hands outstretched, as if Thorin was a Dwarfling taking his first steps. He had made his way to Bilbo’s tent, eager to share his progress with him, only to see all of the Hobbit’s belongings packed and waiting on his cot.

Thorin’s stomach had lurched painfully with dread, and he had sat on Bilbo’s cot, staring resolutely at the walls of the tent until Bilbo had returned from helping tend to the countless wounded. Thorin refused to accept that he was losing one home right after winning back another. Bilbo had walked in moments later, wiping blood off of his hands on a spare rag, which he had dropped when he saw Thorin sitting on his cot with Balin standing behind him.

Balin had left as Thorin tried to find the correct words. How could he be selfish enough ask Bilbo to stay after everything he had put him through? How could he possibly explain to the most courageous creature he had ever known that the thought of life without him was terrifying? In the end Thorin had slipped to his knees from the bed, and simply trusted Bilbo to have the answers. He just needed the Hobbit to point the way to earning his forgiveness and Thorin would pursue it endlessly.

Thorin remembered seeing the tears in Bilbo’s eyes as he walked towards the cot, and hating himself more than he thought possible, believing that the Hobbit would simply grab his pack and leave Thorin to rot in his guilt and grief. Instead, Bilbo had stopped in front of Thorin.

_“Can you promise that it is gone? The sickness?”_ Bilbo had whispered. 

Thorin had shook his head slowly, and answered honestly. Bilbo deserved honesty, even if it made his departure more likely.

 _“I don’t… I don’t know, Bilbo,”_ Thorin had said, trying to control the trembling in his voice. He had closed his eyes tightly, as the fear he had felt over the past weeks while he lay healing washed over him. Had the madness ever truly left? Would he shut himself away at the first sight of gold, forsake his family, his people, and his love?

 _“Thorin, look at me,”_ he had heard Bilbo say. He had opened his eyes to see Bilbo smiling down at him and his head had spun. That smile had seemed so out of place, like a glimpse of blue sky in a violent thunderstorm, and it had shocked Thorin out of his spiraling thoughts. _“Do you still feel it?”_

Thorin had paused, searching for the haze, the desolation, the defiance that had consumed everything under the gold lust. He felt as if his body had been burned from the inside, left charred and aching but still whole. He found the guilt easily, the worry for his people, for his nephews healing in the tent with him. He felt the concern for the future of Erebor sharpened with a taste of hope at the edges. And the love he felt for Bilbo, still new yet so familiar, as if loving Bilbo was the most natural thing in the world for Thorin.

He shook his head, watching the smile grow on Bilbo’s face, the warmth of his hand pressed against his cheek.

 _“Then we know you can beat it. If it comes back…”_ Bilbo had pulled Thorin to his feet, moving his hands to hold both of Thorin’s in his own. _“We will be here, for you, Thorin. I trust you. You have to trust yourself.”_

Thorin had stared at Bilbo, paralyzed by his words, before clutching the Hobbit to him with a broken sob. Bilbo had immediately returned the embrace, letting Thorin bury his head in the crook of Bilbo’s neck. Bilbo had swayed them side to side and Thorin had simply breathed, before he had felt Bilbo giggling.

 _“You’re tickling me, you!”_ Bilbo had laughed, squirming gently but keeping his arms around Thorin, hands holding firmly onto Thorin’s tunic. Thorin had just squeezed tighter and moved his head to bury his nose in Bilbo’s curls, smiling in disbelief that he was holding a laughing Bilbo in his arms.

*****

Thorin continued walking, hands clasped behind his back, lost in thought. The wind had picked up slightly, strands of his hair beginning to drift across his face now and then as the sky grew lighter. His thoughts turned again towards Balin’s suggestion from the previous day. Thorin knew his words were true but that did not make the idea of Bilbo being involved in the business of Mirkwood any more appealing. Thranduil had showed willingness to cooperate in negotiations, and Thorin was civil towards him but his distrust for the elves remained. If Bilbo were to accept the position of emissary to Mirkwood, it would certainly entail the inevitable trips between Mirkwood and Erebor.

 _That’s if Bilbo would accept._ Thorin reminded himself. _There is no guarantee Bilbo will continue to want to stay in Erebor._

On the other hand, perhaps such a position would be an incentive for the Hobbit to remain in the Mountain…

Thorin shook his head, dispelling that thought before he could dwell on it. If he had to make a decision on this, it would be based on Bilbo’s safety, not Thorin’s happiness. Bilbo’s safety would never again be sacrificed for Thorin or anyone else, he would make sure of that. He tried to measure his distrust of Thranduil with the reality that Bilbo would be the perfect diplomat. The Hobbit was quick-witted and strategic, compassionate and loyal, intuitive and resourceful.

 _But what if he chooses the Elves over Erebor?_ Thorin leaned his elbows against the ledge of the ramparts and sighed. He had tried to believe this wasn’t a decisive factor in his decision but the anxiety continued to fester in his thoughts. Because why would Bilbo be interested in a mountain filled with ghosts of people not his own when he could stay among a race with which he had always shown a fascination?

It was still so odd for Thorin to see Bilbo sitting in the cavernous rooms of Erebor, like a ray of sunshine ensnared in a jar, as if he was the fireflies Thorin had once thought were the stars trapped beneath the mountain.

_I would spend the rest of my life by his side if he would let me._

Thorin pushed himself away from the rampart and continued his walk. The light rising up the mountainside had turned a pale gold now, the foothills below Erebor shrouded in a thin mist. Thorin knew beneath that mist lay the remnants of the battlefield; a wasteland even with the dragon gone. Erebor and the earth around her were still trying to come back to life after so many years in desolation. Yet there was hope, undeniable in the eyes of the Dwarves working tirelessly in Erebor and in the sound of children’s laughter drifting up from Dale. Hope that both those in Dale and Erebor would see their homes restored, not to their original state, but stronger. A reflection of the lives sacrificed for home to be something tangible, not merely a whispered remembrance.

Thorin took one last glance at the landscape stretching before him before turning to go back inside the mountain, but something white caught his eye in the dark grey of the rock. He almost had to kneel to inspect it, but quickly shot back up when he realized what it was. His eyes widened. Without wasting another moment, he spun back and ran towards the door at the far end of the ramparts and didn’t stop until he had reached the Company’s hall.

The only thought on his mind was what Bilbo would do when he saw what Thorin had found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to squire-reblogs and dragonbilbo for their beta skills!   
> And thank you to everyone who has read this so far!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin makes a proposition that may change Bilbo's place in Erebor but our dear Hobbit has his doubts.

Thorin pushed the door to the Company’s hall open as quietly as he could and carefully navigated through the snoring Dwarves sprawled on the floor. He reached the far side of the hall, where Bilbo, Fíli, Kíli, Balin, and he usually laid out their bedrolls, managing to only tripping once on an outstretched leg. Fíli and Kíli were sleeping closest to the fire pit, Kíli tangled in the layers of his bedroll and Fíli sprawled on his stomach, snoring heroically loudly. Thorin stepped over them and around the fire pit to see Bilbo in his bedroll, hair curling softly over his face, and one hand outstretched, resting on top of the empty bedroll next to him, where Thorin usually slept.

Thorin paused for a moment, wondering if Bilbo had woken to see that Thorin had left early or if he had simply reached out to Thorin in his sleep. The thought made a warmth spread through Thorin and he nearly returned to his bedroll to spend the last hour or so of early morning tucked next to Bilbo. But he remembered why he had rushed back from the ramparts so quickly and knelt beside Bilbo to shake his shoulder gently.

“Bilbo,” Thorin whispered near Bilbo’s ear. “Bilbo, wake up.” Bilbo didn’t even budge, even as Thorin shook his shoulder gently again.

Thorin sighed and sat back, smiling slightly. He knew from experience that waking a Hobbit was a test in patience and determination. He pushed Bilbo gently, trying to roll him over, but Bilbo responded by curling in on himself tightly and tucking his head underneath the top layer of his bedroll so all that was visible were his morning-mussed curls. Thorin chuckled and ruffled his hand through them, earning a grumble and an un-aimed swat from Bilbo.

“Come, my lazy Hobbit. I have something to show you.” Thorin whispered, tugging at Bilbo’s bedroll.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Came Bilbo’s groggy voice, muffled by his pillow. “What have I done to deserve this?”

Thorin grinned. “It speaks! Now does it move?” With that he pulled the top layer of the bedroll all the way off of Bilbo, expecting the Hobbit to jump at the cold. Instead, Bilbo remained curled in a tight ball, completely still.

“Is the mountain on fire?” Bilbo asked, voice still muffled. “Are you dying?”

Thorin sighed. “If I say yes will you get up?”

“No. Probably not. Maybe for the fire. Certainly not for you, at this indecent hour.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “I’ll let you have half of my breakfast,” he offered.

There was a slight pause, and Bilbo rolled over onto his back and sat up. Thorin could see in the dark room that his eyes were still closed but a small smile betrayed him.

“And?” Bilbo prompted.

“You’re terribly greedy for such a little creature.” Thorin grinned, knowing that would prompt a more animated response. As he suspected, Bilbo opened his eyes and glared fiercely at Thorin. 

Well, Thorin assumed it was meant to be fierce but the disheveled curls and sleepy eyes detracted from the intended heat.

“There is something you need to see, Master Baggins. I promise you it will be worth waking at such an ‘indecent hour’.” Thorin said as he stood and offered a hand to Bilbo.

Bilbo glared sleepily up at him before groaning. He ignored Thorin’s outstretched hand and instead used the front of Thorin’s tunic as a ladder to pull himself up.

“My expectations are exceedingly high, my King.” Bilbo said through a yawn as he followed Thorin around the fire and through the maze of sleeping Dwarves to the door. Once they had stepped  
outside of the doors, Thorin quickened his pace, throwing a grin over his shoulder at Bilbo.

*****

Bilbo looked up from glaring at the stone floor to see Thorin turning to grin at him, and his step faltered slightly.

 _Unbelievable._ Bilbo thought to himself. _This is absolutely ridiculous. This bloody oaf wakes me up with the bloody sun and then has the audacity to be bloody gorgeous without even bloody trying._

“I cannot believe I am awake right now. Is this a dream? Am I dreaming? I’m dreaming aren’t I,” Bilbo grumbled, dragging his feet as much as he could while trying to keep up with Thorin’s long strides. 

“If this is what you dream of, then you are distressingly unimaginative, Master Baggins. Though I am honored that I would be present.” Another roguish grin. Bilbo groaned.

_Good Bilbo, why don’t you just admit how often you dream of him and his stupid beautiful face and his stupid warm hands and how stupid his stupid wonderful laugh is? Brilliant idea. That won’t mess anything up between the two of you, I’m sure._

Bilbo was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely noticed where Thorin was leading him until they had reached the staircase that would take them out to the ramparts.

“We’re going outside? Are you insane? I don’t even have a jacket!” Bilbo exclaimed but Thorin was already dashing up the steps two at a time. Bilbo remained at the bottom of the stairs, making up his mind to turn around right there, march back to the Company hall, and bury himself in his bedroll, when Thorin turned and offered his hand again. He had opened the door to the ramparts slightly, letting light flood in across his face, revealing a breathless smile and an excited gleam in his eyes. For a second, Bilbo saw a much younger Thorin exploring his mountain before the dragon and the years of exile, sneaking out with his brother in his precious moments of freedom, unburdened by the sorrows that were yet to come.

It made Bilbo’s heart ache. He didn’t know how he could, but he made a silent promise, as he started climbing the stairs, to do whatever a simple Hobbit from the Shire could do to keep that gleam in Thorin’s eyes.

Thorin held the door open but once Bilbo had walked all the way through, a hand pulling the back of his shirt stopped him from moving any further. He looked up at Thorin, frowning in confusion.

“Close your eyes,” Thorin said simply, as if this was a common request. Bilbo raised an eyebrow.

“No, I don’t think I will. I rather favor remaining upright, thank you.” Bilbo retorted.

Thorin furrowed his eyebrows in mock indignation but Bilbo thought he saw a flash of uncertainty. 

“Do you not trust me, Master Baggins?

“I do trust you, I _don’t_ trust your sense of direction. How many times was it that you got lost in Hobbiton? Really Thorin, there were signs everywhere. You just had to follow the road.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Insolence, that’s all I ever hear from you.” Thorin stepped in front of Bilbo and moved his hands to Bilbo’s shoulder, the smile still present, and Bilbo’s heart threatened to stop functioning altogether. “Close your eyes, Bilbo. I promise I won’t let you fall.”

It was then Bilbo realized which part of the ramparts they were standing on. He knew exactly what he would see if he turned away from Thorin and looked at the wall to his left. But he didn’t look away from Thorin. He kept his gaze on the clear blue eyes in front of him, too full of warmth and mischief to be clouded or hazy with the madness of the dragon sickness. He thought of seeing those blue eyes open for the first time after the battle, recognizing instantly the difference between them in that moment and when the madness was devouring him.

_I promise I won’t let you fall._

Bilbo closed his eyes. There was a moment of stillness, before he felt Thorin take his hand gently, almost tenderly, as if he was unsure of whether or not he was allowed.  
Bilbo smiled, hoping it conveyed his acceptance without betraying how Bilbo was trying not melt into the touch. He let Thorin pull him along and listened the explanation Thorin was giving him, his usual low rumble mixed with an urgent excitement.

“I woke up early this morning, and I couldn’t fall back asleep. So I started walking and I ended up here,” Thorin said, keeping a quick pace that was comfortable enough for Bilbo to not fear that he was about to sprawl face-first across the stone on a misstep. “It was still dark, obviously, so it’s fortunate that I was even able to spot it.”

Bilbo hummed, focused on keeping to his feet. With his eyes closed he could feel sleep pulling at him again, and the familiar richness of Thorin’s voice was only lulling him further. He was starting to truly drift, when he collided with Thorin. He would have fallen backwards, if not for Thorin’s hand still holding his own.

He waited for Thorin to tell him to open his eyes, but there was only silence, as they stood in the chill of the morning, the only source of warmth being Thorin’s hand still holding his own and the heat of his proximity. Bilbo thought he could feel a ghost of breath on his face and his heart immediately quickened. If Bilbo were to lean in, tilt his head up slightly, perhaps…

But that was ridiculous and Bilbo silently scolded himself. He was letting his dream seep into his reality, and no matter how much Bilbo wished it were true, it didn’t make sense for Thorin to feel that way about him. And it certainly wasn’t productive for Bilbo to focus on how soft Thorin’s lips looked every time the Dwarf was speaking to him. He took a breath to clear his thoughts before breaking the silence.

“Thorin?” Bilbo questioned, and he felt Thorin’s hand flinch slightly before he was released completely. “Can I open my eyes now?”

Bilbo heard Thorin clear his throat before, “Uh, yes. Right. Good. Open your eyes, Master Baggins.”

When Bilbo did so, the first thing he noticed was the mist. It wasn’t uncommon, at this height on the mountain, to walk out on the ramparts only to be surrounded by a low, thin cloud. This morning, the mist was illuminated by the light of the rising sun, wrapping the mountain in a rosy haze. Where the mist was thinnest, the sun streamed through in pale rays, and Bilbo was mesmerized by the way the color of the cloud shifted as he turned. He looked back at Thorin to see the Dwarf watching him.

“I thought Shire sunrises were a sight to behold but this… I can’t believe this is real.” Bilbo said, gesturing all around him. “I’ll admit, waking up for this was quite worth it. I may even let you keep your whole breakfast.”

Thorin tilted his head and smiled at Bilbo before chuckling softly. “This isn’t what I brought you here for,” he said, and shifted to gesture towards a spot on the ground near the side of the mountain.

Bilbo frowned in confusion but took a few steps forward to see the stone where Thorin was pointing to.

When he saw what Thorin meant, he gasped, whipping his head around to question Thorin with wide eyes, before returning his gaze to the delicate white flower that had begun to sprout out of a patch of soft Earth on the mountainside.

He knelt down and traced one of the petals softly, trying to recall the name of the flower he had only seen depictions of in books. He saw Thorin kneel down beside him, and reach out to feel the earth around the stem of the flower. 

“Arodfain,” Bilbo whispered excitedly, the name returning with the memory of reading about the mountain flower from one of his mother’s botany books. A symbol of purity, strength, and dedication. A testament to the stubbornness of life to be able to grow even in the harshest conditions. And there was something else about the flower... Bilbo tried to remember the words in the book, but the memory was fading.

“What does that mean?” Thorin asked.

“Hmm? Oh, let’s see… In Westron that would translate to noble-white.” Bilbo smiled affectionately. “Quite fitting for a flower growing on a mountain kingdom.”  
Bilbo continued examining the flower, trying to assess how old the bloom was and if it would need help to survive. He was lost in thought, trying to remember the other mountain flowers he had read of, a small mountain garden already starting to develop in his mind. He almost missed Thorin’s question, quiet and hesitant as it was.

“Would you like to know what it is in Khuzdul?”

Bilbo snapped his gaze away from the flower and stared at Thorin in surprise. Was he offering to share a Khuzdul word with him? But hadn’t Gandalf said that Khuzdul was a guarded language, known only to Dwarves? Bilbo had been longing to learn Khuzdul since he had heard the Dwarves murmur it around the campfire, or in some cases shout it at Elves, but hadn’t dared to ask.

“You would tell me?” Bilbo asked, watching Thorin’s neutral expression shift into confusion. “I thought Khuzdul was forbidden to outsiders?”

Thorin stared back at him, his expression similar to what Bilbo was feeling, which confused Bilbo even more.

_Why is he confused? I’m not the one who just offered to teach him a secret language._

Thorin shook his head and Bilbo could see he was trying to fight a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Is that why you’ve never asked to learn it?” Thorin questioned, the smile growing but the apprehension still present in his eyes. “Not because you… didn’t care for it? I thought maybe, because of Sindarin…”

“You thought I didn’t want to learn Khuzdul because of Sindarin?” Bilbo interrupted with a laugh of disbelief. “Thorin, you can’t be serious. I’ve wanted to learn it since I joined the Company, you ridiculous Dwarf. I just didn’t want to offend anyone by asking them to teach an outsider their language!”

Thorin’s eyebrows furrowed and he sat back on his heels, as if Bilbo’s words had offended him.

“Do you think we see you as an outsider?” He asked, voice harsher than it had been.

Bilbo was completely at a loss. Was he missing something?

“Well, I’m not actually a Dwarf, if that had escaped your notice,” Bilbo replied, raising an eyebrow at Thorin’s increasing glower.

“You’re not an elf, yet you learned Sindarin,” he grumbled.

“Because it’s not bloody forbidden!” Bilbo cried, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Just minutes ago he had been quietly examining a flower with Thorin by his side, and now they were bickering over why Bilbo hadn’t broken Dwarven tradition and insisted on learning Khuzdul? Did Thorin wake him up this early just to pout about him learning Sindarin? “If I was allowed to learn Khuzdul, of course I would have!”

Thorin didn’t even have the decency to look slightly ashamed. The apprehension left his eyes completely and the smile returned to his face.

“We don’t allow strangers to learn Khuzdul, Bilbo. Our culture and ways are precious to us and we only share them with those who will care for them as we do.” He glanced back down at the flower between him and Bilbo and then returned his gaze back to Bilbo, blue eyes clear and excited once more. “You certainly aren’t a stranger, Master Baggins. I… and all of the Company would be honored if you considered Erebor your home.” Thorin’s eyes widened slightly at that, as if he felt he had spoken out of turn. “If you would want it, that is. I didn’t mean… I simply wanted to reassure you that…”

Bilbo put a hand on Thorin’s mouth, to stop him from rambling. Bilbo knew from experience that Thorin’s rambling usually took a self-deprecating path that led to even more brooding than usual. Bilbo did the best he could to ignore the part of his mind that wanted to memorize the shape of Thorin’s lips pressed against his palm, chapped but warm, and snickered at Thorin’s shocked expression.

“King-Under-the-Mountain,” Bilbo smiled cheekily at Thorin, watching his eyes follow the movement of Bilbo’s mouth. “Would you please allow me to learn Khuzdul?”

He let his hand dropped as Thorin laughed and glanced at the flower once more before moving to his feet. Bilbo thought he saw Thorin’s tongue swipe over his lips briefly, and Bilbo blushed at the thought of Thorin still being able to taste Bilbo’s skin on his lips.

 _I am the most foolish Hobbit on Arda._ Bilbo thought as he stood as well and smoothed down his clothes. The thought came around the same time Bilbo wondered what Thorin’s skin would taste like. _Probably like sun-warmed earth…_

“It would be my pleasure to allow it, Master Baggins,” he heard Thorin say and almost jumped. 

“Though I will warn you now, Khuzdul is nothing like Westron. And certainly nothing like Sindarin… thankfully.” Thorin grinned down at Bilbo playfully, so proud of his own humor, and Bilbo shot him an unimpressed look.

”There is… something else I wish to ask you, Master Baggins.” Thorin started, walking towards the rampart with this hands now clasped behind his back. Bilbo knew him well enough to recognize this as Thorin’s I’m-making-a-very-important-decision-because-I’m-a-very-important-Dwarf stance. “It was on Balin’s suggestion that I do so, and I admit I did not accept the proposition at first.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow as Thorin kept his back towards him, staring down at the foothills and Dale, stretching out below them. He bit his lip to stop the laugh threatening to escape.

Thorin Oakenshield not passing up on the opportunity to brood over something? Shocking.

“But it is becoming harder to argue with the logic behind the idea. And I do not deny that you would be the best one… Dwarf or Hobbit…” Thorin glanced over his shoulder at Bilbo and smiled, “… for the position.”

Thorin turned away again and Bilbo saw his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath and his head nod once, as if he had just come to a decision. Bilbo took a few steps forward before Thorin turned suddenly and looked at Bilbo resolutely.

“If you will accept, Erebor would be grateful to see you as the emissary to the Elves,” Thorin finished, without a single pause. He continued watching Bilbo, and Bilbo somewhere in his mind realized Thorin was probably waiting for an answer… but Bilbo’s mouth had stopped working so that would have to wait.

Instead, Bilbo just stared back at Thorin. He noticed vaguely that the mist had started to clear and the light around them had become clearer. Bilbo squinted, opened his mouth, and then closed it.

Thorin looked anxious now. He cleared his throat and his brow creased as he spoke.

“It would really just be Mirkwood. Since Rivendell is so far. Though Lord Elrond might very well be interested in opening up a trade agreement…Bilbo?”

Bilbo could see Thorin’s mouth moving… but was he actually speaking? Bilbo wondered if he was in fact still standing. He looked down to check… and oh, yes. Lovely. Still standing. Quite right.

He was still examining his feet when he felt Thorin’s hands around his arms. He looked up to see Thorin in front him, eyes full of concern. 

_Such pretty eyes. Does he know that? I wonder if he knows that… what were we talking about just now? Thorin was saying something ridiculous…_

“Bilbo, are you alright? Do you need to sit? You’re pale. Are you feeling well?”

_Rude._

“Excuse you, I am not _pale_ ,” Bilbo retorted.

“Alright… you’re not pale. Do you need to sit?” Thorin asked again.

“No. I’m quite alright, thanks. What were you saying?” Bilbo asked, remembering something about Elves and Mirkwood and…what was the word Thorin had used… emissary?  
Bilbo’s throat went dry.

“Wait, what??” Bilbo nearly shouted, jolting out of Thorin’s grasp. “Did you really just ask me…Emissary? Me? Bilbo Baggins? Bilbo the Hobbit? Emissary to Elves? For Erebor? Erebor the Dwarf kingdom? The kingdom of Dwarves?” 

He must still be sleeping. That was it, he was still asleep in his bedroll and he had just breathed in too much dust and it was wreaking havoc on his brain somehow and now he was having a ludicrous dream and that was it.

“Breathe! Bilbo, breathe for a moment,” Thorin instructed, calmly. Bilbo tried to do so but his mind was racing with all chaos he could accidentally inflict on Mirkwood and Erebor. It must have shown on his face, and Thorin rubbed his hands up and down his arms until Bilbo was no longer in danger of hyperventilating. 

“Peace, my burglar. That’s it. Hush.” Bilbo found his breath again, and he could tell Thorin was trying not to laugh at his outburst.

“Bilbo, I would not ask this of you if I did not think you capable of succeeding. I can think of no one better suited for this.” Thorin’s eyes were honest as he smiled at Bilbo, though Bilbo could tell he was steeling himself for another panicked reaction. “But if you do not want it, I will not hold it against you.”

Thorin paused, and Bilbo could feel himself relaxing, his mind beginning to fully process what was being asked of him. How could Thorin possibly expect Bilbo to know what being an emissary entailed? How could he be so trusting of Bilbo with such an important task for the kingdom when Bilbo not only had no experience in diplomacy, but was also far less noble or intimidating than a Dwarf?

“Thorin, I have no idea how to be an emissary. What if something goes horribly wrong and I manage to sell Erebor to King Thranduil or…”

Thorin actually laughed at that and Bilbo glared at him. 

“I’m serious, Thorin! I don’t want to make a complete mess out of things because I don’t know what I’m doing!” Bilbo’s breathing began to get shallow again but Thorin was standing in front of him, looking completely at ease. In fact, he was smiling fondly at Bilbo.

“Balin and I will be there to teach you, of course.” Thorin reassured. “Did you think we would just send you off to Mirkwood to fend for yourself?” Thorin chuckled as Bilbo continued to gape at him. 

“Bilbo, you are the only one here who knows Sindarin. You can carry a conversation with Thranduil without attempting to strangle him… though that is a sight I would love to see. And you are interested in the culture and tales of Elves.”

Bilbo shook his head. Surely an interest in Elves was not sufficient enough of a qualification to become an emissary to them? But he did have to admit, the way Dwarves interacted with Elves, especially Thranduil, left something to be desired.

Thorin stepped closer and reached out to take one of Bilbo’s hands. He held it with one hand while covering it with his other. When he looked up, Bilbo’s panic began to dissipate.

“Bilbo, I trust you. You have to trust yourself.”

Bilbo’s breath caught in his throat.

 _Oh, that’s just unfair._ He thought as he began to feel his eyes prickle with the memory.

He still had doubts. Many, many doubts. But he returned the smile Thorin was giving him, and he could feel excitement push some of those doubts further to the side of this thoughts.

If saying yes meant seeing Thorin smile at him like that, he would be emissary to the orcs as well.

Bilbo snorted at his thoughts and the absurdity of the entire morning. He looked down at Thorin’s hands still embracing his own.

_Could get used to sunrises with this oaf._

He placed his free hand atop Thorin’s and squeezed gently, and his smile widened.

“At your service, my King.” Bilbo said. Thorin’s answering smile, complete with the crinkles around his eyes that Bilbo adored so much, left Bilbo’s knees wobbling slightly. He let himself stare until he realized Thorin had said something.

“Hmm?” Bilbo questioned. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Nungu-ithrên” Thorin repeated. “The name of the flower. In Khuzdul it means flower of daring. It is a symbol of many things, but most of all strength and hope where none is expected.”

Bilbo rolled the word over in his mouth, trying to fit it against his tongue. He knew he was probably butchering it terribly and gave Thorin a small apologetic smile. He was not expecting to see Thorin’s eyes fixed on him, gaze full something that made Bilbo’s heart ache.

“Well,” Bilbo cleared his throat. “It seems I will need a patient teacher.”

Thorin regarded him for a moment longer before he turned walk towards the door at the other end of the ramparts. He offered an arm to Bilbo, who took it easily, slipping into step with Thorin.

“Shall we begin?” Thorin said with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to squire-reblogs and dragonbilbo for their beta skills!
> 
> Can anyone guess what flower this is based off of?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to squire-reblogs and dragonbilbo for being amazing betas!

Bilbo’s stomach rumbled as he placed another book atop a stack that was beginning to tilt precariously. It was past the time the Company usually gathered for dinner and Ori had already left for the Company hall. Bilbo had been too absorbed in a history of Erebor’s dealings with Mirkwood to leave any earlier; his head was swimming with ideas on future trade agreements and he had compiled a hefty list of questions to ask Balin.

He still very much doubted he was actually capable of being an ambassador for a kingdom he knew next to nothing about. But he couldn’t deny that his communication with Elves was usually more successful than the Dwarves’ attempts. Perhaps this would mean meetings between Mirkwood and Erebor could consist less of thinly veiled contempt and more of actual cooperation and understanding. Though there was only so much one Hobbit could do…

In the three days that had passed since Thorin had dragged him along on his early morning adventure, Bilbo had already met with Balin twice to begin learning about the inner workings of Erebor. Balin had given him the tome on the history of meetings and agreements between Erebor and Mirkwood that morning, along with a sheet of parchment filled with Cirth runes. Bilbo had set the runes aside, hoping that Thorin might help him with them later that night.

Bilbo stretched and stood, deciding that delaying his meal any longer would only result in louder protests from his stomach. He shouldered a bag of books to take back the the Company hall with him and made sure that all the torches and candles were extinguished before closing the library door behind him. As he walked, he tried to make sense of all the agreements, treaties, and treaty revisions he had been studying for the past few hours. Learning all the trade arrangements would take time, but he was rather enjoying the glimpse into the history of Erebor and Mirkwood that reading the tome had offered him. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of his name. He looked up to see that on his way to the hall,he had reached the room where Balin and Thorin were holding a meeting with the royal advisors. He knew it was dreadfully impolite to eavesdrop, especially on a royal meeting, but his propriety gave way to his curiosity. He briefly entertained the thought that that was what had landed him on the Quest in the first place, but his feet were already silently carrying him closer to the door until he could hear the voice that had said his name more clearly.

“…he’s clever too. And he puts up with His Royal Blondeness. I think it’s a brilliant idea. The lad has my vote.” 

_Awfully kind. I think Thranduil might even appreciate that epithet. Wait was that about a vote?_

Bilbo risked a few more steps to stand with his ear almost flush to the door. He placed his hand in his left pocket, feeling for his ring in case he needed to disappear quickly. He had been using the ring as little as possible lately. It was certainly convenient having the ability to become invisible when he wished, but he had found that plunging into the grey world of the ring’s vision left him feeling smothered by a presence he could not see. And the whispering… there was a voice in his head that spoke to him in a language which Bilbo could never quite understand. But it nestled in his mind and set Bilbo on edge, so he had kept the ring in his pocket only to use it in the direst of situations. 

“Aye, and mine. If the stories are true, we owe a great deal to the Hobbit. I think he’d be a valuable addition to the council.” Bilbo believed that was the Dwarf that had been introduced to him as Baldir. “And if he can negotiate with the Elvenking and not try to kill him, he’s better suited for the position than most here. But if he does end up killin’ him… well, then I’ll personally invite Master Baggins to dinner.” 

That earned a few cheers of approval and Bilbo recognized Balin’s laugh amongst the noise. Bilbo wondered if Thorin was smiling too or if he was trying to maintain his royal glower. Bilbo stifled a snicker behind his hand. 

“Are you all forgetting that he is a Halfling, not a Dwarf?” The chuckle died in Bilbo’s throat as another Dwarf’s voice rose above the mirth. Part of Bilbo wanted to barge in the room and ask just what was so wrong with that but instead he pressed his ear harder against the door. “He knows nothing of our customs or how a kingdom is run!”

“And you know how a kingdom is run, Ulfir?” Baldir snapped.

“I know more than a Shireling! And do I need to remind you of what that traitor did with the Arkenstone?” Bilbo’s heart sunk. “He cannot be trusted with a position such as this! His friendship with Elves is no comfort either. There is nothing to stop him from betraying us again.”

Bilbo’s ears began to ring but he stayed where he was and tried to ignore the wave of guilt washing over him. The murmurs that had begun when Ulfir finished his protests were silenced as Bilbo heard a chair scrape across the stone floor.

“You think Master Baggins untrustworthy?” Thorin’s voice was calm and composed, every word laced with a quiet venom that made even Bilbo shrink back from the door. “He left his own home behind so that we could see ours once more. A group of strangers that offered him months of peril and no promise that he would return.”

The room was completely silent, and Bilbo realized he had been holding his breath so as to not be heard outside the door.

“My actions forced Master Baggins’ hand in taking the Arkenstone. He sought to save us once again while I was too blinded with the greed of dragon sickness. Even after I threatened his life by my own hand and then again with war, he stayed beside me and my nephews every day and every night while we healed.”

There was a pause, and Bilbo’s ear was pressed so tightly to the door that it was beginning to hurt.

“I would trust Bilbo… Master Baggins, with my life.”

Silence once again descended on the room and Bilbo felt rooted to the spot in stunned silence. He was trying to comprehend exactly what had just taken place when he heard Balin’s voice.

“Do you doubt the word of the King, Master Ulfir?”

“No, of course not,” Bilbo heard the anger and embarrassment clear in Ulfir’s voice. “But we do not know Master Baggins as well as His Majesty and his Company. We do not know his merit beyond what has been told to us.”

“What more do you want from the lad, Ulfir?” Baldir questioned. “He works all day with the youngest Ri and he translated the Elven treaty. From what has been told of the Quest, I’d say he’s proven his loyalty. And you’ve seen the way he looks at…”

“He hasn’t proven anything!” Ulfir interrupted. “He has sworn no fealty to the King or to Erebor. He should be made to compete in the tournament with the rest.”

More scraping of chairs and various shouts. Bilbo leaned back from the door at the sudden noise and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. What tournament?

“No. Absolutely not,” Bilbo heard Thorin above the arguments and shouts.

_Of course they doubt me._

Bilbo had expected that he would not be trusted by most of the Dwarves in Erebor. He was an outsider, no matter how much Thorin insisted that he wasn’t.

_Why shouldn’t they doubt me?_

And he had stolen the King’s jewel. Bilbo couldn’t blame the Dwarves returning to their home for being suspicious of a strange Hobbit who had taken the Arkenstone and betrayed the King, regardless of good intentions.

_A thief and a liar._

“If he can be trusted to deal with the Elves and be treated as a Dwarf he should be held to the same standards as the Dwarves returning to the Mountain!” Ulfur continued, banging his hand on the table.

“You want a Halfling to fight against warriors from the Iron Hills? That’s a death sentence.”

“He survived the Battle and the Quest, did he not?” Ulfir countered. “If he is truly as loyal as he claims to be he should prove his fealty as a Dwarf would!”

“I will not allow it!” Thorin roared. “I will not allow harm to befall him again as long as I draw breath. He has already proved his loyalty and he will not be forced into a fight he cannot win to prove it again!”

Bilbo pushed himself away from the door and let his feet carry him while his thoughts raced, fingers worrying the ring in his pocket anxiously. How could he have accepted such a position? He had been foolish to stay in Erebor so long. He was only prolonging the inevitable: he would get in the way and become a burden and the Company would be too kind to ask him to leave and it would cause a rift in the kingdom and Thorin would be blamed and…

Bilbo stopped walking. He let his hands fall to his side and felt his little ring fall back into the corner of his pocket. The tightening in his chest released enough for him to take a few deep breaths and calm the buzzing in his head.

He was a Baggins, for Yavanna’s sake. He was clever enough to riddle with dragons and sneak a horde of Dwarves past a kingdom of Elves. He was brave enough to tackle an orc and face Thorin in the depth of his sickness. He was loyal enough to lie to the one who trusted him the most if it meant saving him and his friends. And he was strong enough to stay where he felt most at home, even if that meant proving his loyalty to the kingdom.

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He felt the strong urge for a hot cup of tea and a long chat with Thorin. But to ask Thorin any questions on this matter would mean that Bilbo would have to admit to eavesdropping. He couldn’t speak to Balin for the same reason. Bilbo’s next choice would have been Ori, but Ori might mention something to Fili and Kili accidentally, and that would surely get back to Thorin.

Bilbo pushed open the door to the Company hall to find that most of the Dwarves had already finished with their meal and most were relaxing around one of the fires. A few bowls and a large pot remained on the main table the Company used to prepare their meals. A growl from his stomach interrupted Bilbo’s thoughts on who to ask about the tournament and he grabbed a bowl and ladled out some of the stew before heading over to sit at the fire. Bofur was stretched out with his hat over his eyes, feet resting on Bifur’s lap as the other Dwarf was absorbed in a complicated dice game with Nori. Fíli sat on the other side of the fire, cleaning one of his knives, a small arsenal of assorted weapons piled to his left. He looked up as Bilbo neared the fire and called over to him, motioning for him to take the empty space on his right.

“Haven’t seen you all day, Master Baggins,” Fíli said with a smirk. “Did Ori lock you in the library again?”

“Hey!” Ori called from across the fire. “I didn’t mean to! He was so quiet and I…”

“No, Ori is innocent this time,” Bilbo chuckled, remembering his panic at being locked in Erebor’s massive library with no torch and no knowledge of his surroundings on the second day of working with Ori. “I just lost track of time reading about Mirkwood.”

Bilbo realized then that Kíli was missing from his usual spot at the fire, though he wasn’t entirely surprised. Tauriel had been staying in Dale with Thranduil’s son and the rest of the Elven guard while their King prepared to return to Mirkwood. Coincidentally, Kíli had been on several scouting trips around the city in the past week and had been returning later and later each day, a dreamy grin almost always present on his face.

“Is Kíli on a very-vital scouting mission again?” Bilbo teased, chuckling when Fíli groaned loudly.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Fíli replied, his cleaning becoming a bit violent. “If Thranduil doesn’t do the job, Thorin will, and I’m not going to stick up for the idiot this time. It would be a relief not to hear him sigh over that damn elf all night anymore.”

“Oh come now, he’s in love,” Bilbo said around a mouthful of stew. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have an example of Elves and Dwarves overcoming their differences and years of animosity.”

“My brother and an Elf,” Fíli shivered but shot Bilbo a grin. “Well, well. That was spoken like a true diplomat, Master Baggins. I don’t think I’ve congratulated you yet.”

“Ah, well, it’s not for certain yet, Fíli, but I…”

“What do you mean? I thought you had accepted already?” Fíli interrupted, pausing in his work.

“Well, it’s not entirely up to me is it? The council has to approve of it first, and I’m sure some them aren’t too pleased to see a Hobbit hired as a burglar being placed on the council,” Bilbo replied, staring into his stew.

Once more Ulfir’s harsh words filled his head and all of his doubts came crashing down on him. Half of him wanted to call the whole thing off and forget about the ridiculous proposition altogether. But the other half wanted nothing more than to prove to Ulfir, Thorin, and the whole kingdom, that he had a place among them. He belonged in Erebor, with his friends. He was a Baggins of Bag End, and he would always think of the Shire as his home. But these Dwarves had become his home as well, and Bilbo knew the empty rooms of Bag End would never hold his heart the same way without them.

Fíli shook his head. “If any of them see you as that, they’re blind. And I think if anyone said as much out loud in front of Thorin, their days would be numbered. Some of them are just too chained to old traditions and they don’t see that Erebor won’t survive if we continue to isolate ourselves and refuse to change.”

Bilbo stared at Fíli. The Dwarf continued to polish a throwing knife, brow furrowed in concentration but otherwise he was completely at ease, as if he had simply told Bilbo the weather. 

Bilbo felt a rush of pride, thinking back to the confident, eager Dwarf that had dumped an armful of swords and daggers in Bilbo’s arms, ready to set off on the Quest then and there. Bilbo had seen Fíli go from laughing and joking with his brother to watching helplessly as his Uncle descended into sickness and drove them all to war. The Dwarf sitting beside him still held himself with an air of royalty, but he spoke now with the kindness and the wisdom of a true leader. He knew Fíli and Kíli weren’t his to protect or be proud of, but sometimes he couldn’t help it.

“Well, well,” Bilbo echoed Fili’s earlier words. “Spoken like a true prince. You’ll make a great King someday, Fíli.”

Fíli looked at Bilbo a bit taken aback but then his face broke into a grin and he made a showy bow before elbowing Bilbo in the ribs.

A moment or two passed in silence as Bilbo finished his dinner and Fíli started stuffing knives in various sheaths and pockets, before Bilbo decided to take his chances and ask Fili for information on the tournament. Perhaps he would show more discretion than Bilbo had given him credit for. 

“Fíli, do you know anything about a tournament for the Dwarves returning to the Mountain?”

Fíli slotted a dagger into place within his boot and raised an eyebrow at Bilbo. He considered Bilbo with a look of suspicion and Bilbo tried not to squirm under the scrutiny.

 _Well, he certainly learned that look from Thorin._ Bilbo thought to himself as he struggled to hold Fíli’s gaze.

Fíli’s face broke into a slow, mischievous grin before nodding once.

“Which one of them suggested it?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Bilbo started before Fíli held a hand up to stop him. Bilbo sighed.  
“Ulfir.”

“That smarmy little toad,” Fíli snarled. “I’m sure he considers himself exempt from it.”

“What is it, exactly?” Bilbo asked, as Fíli tucked away his last dagger.

“Abnâthumunsu. 1 Traditionally, it’s held every year near the Durin’s Day celebrations. It’s meant for those in the King’s service to prove their fealty, hence the name, but it’s open to any Dwarf that wishes to show their loyalty. When the rest of the Dwarves from Ered Luin and the Iron Hills arrive, it will be their way of claiming Erebor as home and accepting Thorin as King.”

“I see,” Bilbo said. The image of being crushed in an arena of burly warriors filled his mind and Bilbo cleared his throat nervously. “Why hasn’t anyone mentioned this to me earlier?”

Fíli laughed. “Why would we mention it to you, Bilbo? You don’t need to prove your loyalty, especially to Thorin. I think saving the entire Company multiple times and facing a dragon for us was probably proof enough. Besides, we knew you’d either have enough sense to know that already… or be unreasonable enough to enter and get yourselves injured. And then we’d have Thorin to deal with and…”

“Why does everyone assume I’d lose?” Bilbo interrupted, with a flash of irritation at the reminder of Thorin’s words. 

Fíli gave Bilbo a look that was clearly meant to spare his feelings while also pointing out how ridiculous that question was.

“Fair enough. But Ulfir said I should be expected to follow dwarven tradition if I am to be treated as one. And I agree. Why should my loyalty to Erebor be assumed when Dwarves who grew up here must prove theirs?”

“Bilbo, it’s not really that meaningful. Really, it’s more of a way for us to show off our fighting,” Fíli insisted. “It’s probably Dwalin’s favorite day of the year.”

Bilbo wasn’t convinced.

“Are you trying to tell me the first tournament in a reclaimed kingdom to prove loyalty to King who won back a home for his people isn’t meaningful?” Bilbo questioned. Fíli ran a hand across his beard, which had grown considerably since Bilbo had opened his door in Bag End, and smiled fondly at Bilbo before replying.

“Thorin would be furious, you know that right?”

“It's not Thorin's choice to make, now is it?” Bilbo retorted, glaring back at Fíli. "Besides, why would he be more upset about me fighting than anyone else?”

“Oh come on, Bilbo,” Fíli laughed, but when Bilbo only frowned in confusion, Fíli’s eyes widened. “You… you seriously don’t know, do you?”

“Master Baggins! Good to see you!!” Before Bilbo could ask Fíli what he meant, Kíli bounded into the Company hall and headed straight for the fire.

“Hey, watch it!” Fíli cried as Kíli plopped himself down in the space where Fíli’s weapon pile had been and threw an arm around his brother.

“Is Fíli boring you to death?” Kíli asked as he narrowly avoided a punch to his ribs from Fíli. 

“Congratulations, by the way! Uncle told me about Erebor’s new ambassador to Mirkwood! Tauriel thinks you’ll be brilliant…”

“You told an Elf about a decision from the King before the rest of the kingdom knows?” Fíli hissed.

“No, I told Tauriel. She’s not just an Elf, Fíli, you know that. And besides, she’s the Captain of the Guard, she was going to find out eventually,” Kíli said with a shrug. “And she’s friends with Bilbo, I thought she would want to know.”

“The decision hasn’t even been made, Kíli,” Fíli said, glancing at Bilbo. “The council is voting on it now, and Bilbo can still say no.”

“What? Bilbo, you can’t say no!” Kíli nearly shouted and Bilbo tried to shush him, as Dori and Bombur were already asleep in their bedrolls. “You’ll be perfect for it! Thorin wouldn’t have asked you if that wasn’t true.”

“Shh, Kíli, calm down! The council has to make the decision first.”

“Oh the council will say yes, Thorin will make sure of it,” Kíli said with a wink. Fíli cleared his throat and Bilbo saw him nudge Kíli in the side. Kíli frowned in confusion, and Fíli shook his head imperceptibly.

Bilbo narrowed his eyes. “Am I missing something?”

The doors to the Company hall opened then, and Balin and Thorin walked in, both visibly tired. Balin was struggling to hide a yawn behind his hand and Thorin was rubbing his face with both hands. Balin patted Thorin on the arm and said something to him before smiling and heading over to the now cooling stew. Thorin’s hands dropped and his eyes scanned the room before finding Bilbo by the fire. 

When he saw him, Thorin’s eyes softened and he smiled, shoulders visibly relaxing as if he hadn’t spent the last hour locked in a room full of shouting Dwarves.

Bilbo heard Kíli whisper something to his brother in a tone of disbelief but Bilbo ignored it, as Thorin took the bowl of stew Balin had handed him and walked over to the fire. Seeing Thorin’s smile grow as he moved closer reminded Bilbo why he agreed to this whole nonsense in the first place. His doubts still gnawed away in the back of his mind, but they seemed muted now and Bilbo felt the realization that he had already made his decision.

Before Thorin reached the fire Bilbo knew that he would fight any battle Thorin asked of him if it only made Thorin smile at him like that at the end of the day.

Thorin threw himself down by Bilbo dramatically and shrugged off his coat.

“Long day?” Bilbo asked with a chuckle as Thorin leaned heavily against him.

“Mmm,” Thorin replied, eyes closed momentarily as he wolfed down his stew. “Though I did not hear a single word of Sindarin nor did I see Thranduil, so I would consider it an improvement from yesterday.”

“Oh I’m sorry, what was that?” Bilbo asked innocently, allowing himself to sink a little deeper against the heat of Thorin’s arm against his. “I couldn’t understand you with your mouth full, did you say you wanted to tell King Thranduil how beautiful Sindarin is?”

Thorin groaned and set his bowl aside. Kíli rolled his eyes and looked pointedly at Fíli who simply shook his head.

“Any news from the scouting trip, Kíli?” Thorin asked, settling in his seat without moving away from Bilbo’s side. Bilbo felt his cheeks warm and tried to keep his smile composed as best as he could, hyperaware that there was barely any part of the right side of his body not pressed against Thorin.

Kíli launched into a detailed description of how the area around Dale was faring, assuring them he had not seen a single orc or suspicious creature. Bilbo wondered how much of this Tauriel was present for, but Kíli did an impressive job of keeping that detail out of his report. 

Bilbo could see Thorin struggling to keep his eyes open as Fíli tried to describe a blocking method Dwalin had shown him that afternoon and by the time the two had moved to seek Dwalin out to demonstrate again, Thorin was barely awake.

“Alright, to bed with you, o powerful King” Bilbo said softly, nudging Thorin’s arm against his. He could feel Thorin mumble a denial more than he could hear it but he tried to focus on getting Thorin up and to his bedroll. Which was easier said than done since Thorin was refusing to hold up any of his own weight.

“I should let you drop on the floor!” Bilbo grunted as he struggled to move the few feet to their bedrolls.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Thorin mumbled, voice thick with sleep. Bilbo scoffed and strongly considered doing just that, but stumbled forward to reach their stone-lined fireplace at the end of the hall before letting Thorin sink ungracefully down to his bedroll.

“Boots, you ridiculous Dwarf!” Bilbo hissed. Thorin whined into his blankets and shook one foot free of its boot. Bilbo waited with his hands on his hips for Thorin to remove the other boot, until he heard a snore.

“Oh honestly, Thorin!” he muttered, moving around the Dwarf to tug his second boot off and toss it next to its mate. He pulled the top layer of Thorin’s bedroll up around him before taking his own coat off and settling into his bedroll.

Fíli and Kíli joined their corner moments later and lit a small fire, still arguing in whispers about the pattern of footwork Dwalin had shown them. Bilbo lay awake as they too found their bedrolls and listened as all the sounds in the hall quieted to steady breathing and then the usual loud snores.

He waited for the inevitable overthinking that would keep him awake all night and leave him on edge and anxious tomorrow, but it didn’t come. Instead, as the light of both fires faded, a plan formed in his head, and with this friends sleeping peacefully around him, Bilbo readied himself for his next adventure. 

And if Bilbo touched his lips to Thorin’s temple before sleep claimed him, a whispered _ollo vae_ 2 pressed into the line of his hair, only the walls of his new home needed to be his witness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Oath of Fealty  
> 2 Sweet dreams


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You would think that a library would be a quiet, unexciting place to be. But once again, our Hobbit gets a rather unexpected proposition. There still has yet to be enough tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to squire-reblogs and dragonbilbo for being amazing betas!

The next morning, Bilbo woke before the rest of the Company. He slipped out of his bedroll, grabbed the pipe Bofur had made for him, and tiptoed out of the hall, the Dwarves still snoring loudly as he silently closed the large wooden door.

He made his way to the ramparts, passing only a few Dwarves headed to and from the kitchens or those a part of the morning guard. Each of the Dwarves either nodded politely to Bilbo or smiled and stopped to greet him. One Dwarf, with a particularly long beard, braided into a circle like Bombur’s, introduced himself as Habod, and invited Bilbo to visit the kitchens any time he pleased for a pot of tea. He even gave Bilbo one of the pastries from the basket he was carrying, still warm and wonderfully fragrant. 

Bilbo pushed open the door to the ramparts and stretched as the cold morning air swirled around him. The mist had returned and Bilbo could barely see Dale in the distance, only soft lights from windows and the outline of a few of the newer structures.

He lit his pipe as he settled against the stone of the ramparts and went over the plan he had begun to form in his head last night. 

He had made two decisions, and although they rested easily in his mind, they would require a bit of cleverness and bit more courage.

His first decision really hadn’t been much trouble at all to reach; he would accept the position of emissary to the Elves and Erebor was going to be his home, though Bilbo could admit his decision to stay in Erebor had very little to do with his new position. He accepted that he would always feel a pull back to the West, and would always crave the afternoons in his garden or the nights in his armchair. But he knew in his heart that nowhere, not even the Shire, could be home without Thorin and the rest of his Dwarves.

He therefore intended to head back the Shire, settle his affairs, and see that Bag End was Lobelia-free before returning with more than one little pack of his belongings. He just needed to figure out how… and when. He supposed he could make the journey on his own, though he would really rather not. But he also didn’t want to pull any of the Dwarves away from Erebor so soon, especially with restorations still in full swing. His best option so far was waiting for Gandalf to appear, though Bilbo knew planning around a wizard was not the wisest idea.

Bilbo was still trying to decide if his second decision could be considered brave or just simply suicidal. It would certainly require all of the wildness of his Tookish side, and perhaps a bit of help from a few of his friends, but Bilbo was determined to fight in the tournament.

_It shouldn’t be that difficult. It’s not as if I need to win, I just need to fight well enough to … not die… horribly… in front of the entire kingdom._

Bilbo sighed. He really had no semblance of an idea for how he was going to learn to fight well enough to hold his own against dwarven warriors. He had mostly survived the Quest and the Battle on sheer luck and the help of his ring; though Bilbo assumed being invisible would probably be a violation of some sort in a tournament like this. 

He remained against the rampart as the mist began to thin, trying to figure out who could he ask to train him. From what he heard outside the door of the meeting, Thorin was not exactly thrilled at the idea of Bilbo fighting in the tournament, so it would need to be someone he could trust not to tell the King. He had become quite close to Tauriel after the Battle, both tending to Fíli, Kíli, and Thorin, as they waited to see if any of them would wake up. 

Many nights had passed with Bilbo and Tauriel huddled in the corner of the tent, leaning against each other, hands clasped together as they listened to Fíli screaming through Oin resetting his leg or Kíli crying out through his fever. She would understand his wish to prove his loyalty to Erebor more than anyone else.

Bilbo tapped out the remains of his pipe and tucked it away inside his coat before turning and heading back through the rampart door. Most of the Company would be awake and returning to their various duties by now, and Balin and Thorin would be leaving to see Thranduil depart soon. Perhaps he could manage to see the Elvenking before he left and see if he had any knowledge on Gandalf’s whereabouts.

By the time Bilbo returned the hall, the Dwarves were in the middle of a rowdy breakfast. Bofur had pulled out his flute and Nori was dancing on the table that held a pot of Bombur’s porridge and empty bowls.

Always with the dancing on the table, Bilbo thought in fond exasperation as he leaned against the doorway to watch the scene in front of him. Thorin and Balin were not among the Dwarves eating around the fire, tapping their feet to the beat of Bofur’s tune, and Oin and Dwalin seemed to have already left as well. Bilbo slipped in to grab a bowl of the cooling porridge and quickly made his way back out of the hall to the library before Nori could pull him up onto the table as well.

The day passed slowly in the library, the pile of books to be sorted and catalogued not holding Bilbo’s attention as his plans for returning to the Shire continued to distract him. He was about to go see if Ori needed any help on the second floor when Dwalin walked in, his arms and hands completely covered in stone dust and Eru knew what else, giving his skin an odd greenish-grey tinge. Thankfully his boots seemed to have fared better during the day and Bilbo counted his blessings that he wouldn’t have a trail to clean up as seemed to be the case whenever Dwalin graced the library with his presence.

“Hello, Dwalin,” Bilbo said, pushing the hair back from his eyes. “I’m glad you’re here, I have something for you.” He grabbed a small cloth-wrapped parcel in the chair next to him and held it out as the Dwarf neared the table. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Dwalin said, reaching for it eagerly. He pulled at the cloth until it fell away to reveal the small pastry Bilbo had been given earlier. “Master Baggins, you are the greatest Hobbit to walk this earth.”

The earnestness in Dwalin’s voice made Bilbo laugh. Dwalin was certainly an intimidating figure and Bilbo would never want to be on the wrong side of his battle-axe, but Bilbo knew scones and pastries were the Dwarf’s biggest weakness. 

“Are you looking for Ori? I think he’s a floor up,” Bilbo asked as Dwalin enjoyed the pastry with closed eyes. “He’s been trying to assess how stonework will need to be done, and I have to say I am surprised by how well this room fared for so long under a dragon. There really won’t be too much heavy repair work to be done.”

“Aye, well, it’s a Dwarven library,” Dwalin said, savouring the last remaining crumbs in the palm of his hand. “And I doubt that _binakrâg ‘urm_ [1] had much use for a room not filled with anythin’ shiny.” Bilbo conceded to that, though if Smaug knew how valuable some of these tomes were, he might have reconsidered overlooking the library for the treasury. 

Which made him wonder if there were any dragons that hoarded treasures of a different nature than gold and trinkets. Lobelia, for instance, could very well be considered dragon-like if dragons were known to hoard more homely possessions. Especially silverware.

“Are ye goin’ deaf in your old age, burglar?” Bilbo heard Dwalin say, expelling the image of Lobelia stomping through Bag End and breathing fire at passing Hobbits.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, the King has been askin’ for you,” Dwalin repeated. “I saw him late this morning, after he had finished with the poncy Elvenking.”

Bilbo ignored the ridiculous twinge of excitement he felt in his stomach and squashed the voice in his head that was stuck on the idea of Thorin wanting to see him.

“Was he alright? Did he seem upset?” Bilbo asked.

“He seemed like he had just got done talkin’ to an Elf,” Dwalin shrugged.

“Why doesn’t he just come here himself, then?” Bilbo wondered, more to himself than as a question to Dwalin. 

The days in which Thorin visited Bilbo in the library between meetings and council sessions outnumbered the days in which he didn’t. Though Bilbo dreaded the day when Thorin found something better to do with his time, it still left him slightly disappointed when he didn’t visit, even for the briefest respite.

“Because he’s the bloody King,” Dwalin replied. “He’s busy.”

“Yes, but he’s visited me here almost every day for the past…”

“Would ye just go see what he wants?” Dwalin interrupted, exasperated. “If it’s not too much of an imposition fer ye.”

“Alright, fine,” Bilbo said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just let me finish up here.”

Dwalin nodded and turned to leave, but Bilbo could hear him grumbling about “not bein’ you two’s personal messenger” as he reached the door.

Bilbo returned his attention to the stack in front of him as Dwalin shut the door behind himself, refocusing on what he still needed to do. He decided that once he finished cataloguing everything on the table he would be able to call the day a success and go see what Thorin wanted without the thought of unfinished work nagging at the back of his mind.

With a goal in mind, Bilbo worked diligently, checking and rechecking that he had documented and organized everything correctly. It wasn’t until he heard the door of the library open and the swish of fabric on the floor that he realized he had lost track of how time had passed.

“Yes, yes, alright, I’m coming!” Bilbo called. “Though I still have a few books left… can this wait a bit longer?”

“Ah, Master Baggins, I was told I might find you here. I hope am not disturbing you in your work.”  
Bilbo’s head whipped up to see the Elvenking standing at the end of the table.

“King Thranduil! Oh, how rude of me, I didn’t realize it was you!” Bilbo spluttered as he untangled himself from the chair and table and stood to bow.

Thranduil nodded in return, his demeanor effortlessly composed. Bilbo was always amazed at how the Elves, and Thranduil in particular, managed to look so untouched by the extent of their years and yet still exude such refined grace and wisdom. Bilbo realized how ruffled and unkempt he must appear after being hunched over in the library and surreptitiously tried to straighten out the worst of the wrinkles in his shirt and pants.

“I hope your meeting went well?” Bilbo inquired, as Thranduil surveyed the pile of books on the table in front of him.

Thranduil lifted an eyebrow and glanced up at Bilbo, a small smile lifting the corner of his lips.

“There were no insults shouted or whispered today, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Ah good, then the sedative I’ve been slipping the Dwarves is working,” Bilbo chuckled, trying to figure out why exactly the king of Mirkwood was visiting him in Erebor’s library instead of preparing for his trip back to his kingdom. Thranduil’s lips twitched upwards and he regarded Bilbo with a conspiratorial glint in his eye.

“I have meant to visit this library for some time,” Thranduil said before walking towards one of the shelves Ori and Bilbo had finished cataloguing and organizing. “I must admit I am impressed. This must have been quite an undertaking to begin repairing.”

Ori and Bilbo still had a lot of work ahead of them, considering they had barely finished with the repairs and documentation of the first floor of the library, but at least it was beginning to resemble  
a library once more.

“But I did not come to discuss Erebor’s library, as I am sure you have guessed.”

“Um… well, yes. I figured as much. What can I do for you?” Bilbo asked, anxiety coiling in his stomach. He hadn’t spoken with the King since Thorin had declared him emissary and although Bilbo didn’t think Thranduil thought too poorly of him, it would still be entirely reasonable for him to reject the proposition of Bilbo as the ambassador to his kingdom. 

“First of all, I believe congratulations are in order.” Thranduil said, sinking effortlessly into the chair at the other end of the table, where Ori usually sat. The absurdity of the image of Thranduil in Ori’s small wooden chair was not lost on Bilbo, especially since the graceful Elvenking was trying his best to tuck his long limbs in a way that didn’t betray how cramped he was. “I am sure Erebor has gained quite an asset by appointing you the emissary to my kingdom.”

“That is… that is very kind,” Bilbo finally stammered out, dipping into a low bow. “It is quite an honour for anyone, let alone a Hobbit from the Shire.”

“I would like to invite you to accompany me back to Mirkwood so that you may be received as the new ambassador,” Thranduil continued simply, and Bilbo’s eyes widened in shock. “I know there are many in my kingdom eager to meet the Hobbit who riddled with a dragon and snuck a company of Dwarves past our guards.”

Bilbo tried to make his jaw work to reply to Thranduil, or at the very least shut. He wanted him to travel to Mirkwood… already? He had barely begun learning what his role actually entailed! Not to mention the last time he was in that forest he was nearly eaten alive by giant spiders and saw his friends locked in a dungeon. He knew he would have to visit the kingdom again at some point, and that the sickness that was so evident in the forest had been diminished thanks to the White Council’s actions... But Bilbo had hoped to be more prepared to at least give the impression he knew what he was doing before being introduced to Thranduil’s kingdom and the rest of the elves of Mirkwood.

Yet the opportunity to see the Elven kingdom of Mirkwood without having to sneak around in the shadows, without hunger and fatigue ever present in his mind, and without the overwhelming worry for his friends and need to escape…

And it would be a wonderful chance to practice his Sindarin and to become more familiar with how Thranduil ruled his kingdom and what he was expecting from an ambassador. Bilbo wanted to do what was needed to be the emissary that Thorin was so sure he was capable of being. For both of their sakes. 

Thranduil remained seated, completely relaxed, though his eyebrows had raised as the moments passed and Bilbo had yet to answer.

“I…” Bilbo began, words wheeling around in his head without doing anything useful like forming a sentence or providing a response. “That’s quite… I mean…”

Thranduil chose then to take mercy on Bilbo by lifting a hand to halt his hesitating.

“You are reluctant, of course. The circumstances of your introduction to Mirkwood produced a less than desirable first impression, I am sure.” Thranduil tilted his head slightly and gave Bilbo a look as if to suggest that subject did not need to be addressed further. “But as the emissary to Mirkwood I think you will find your visit much more enjoyable.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Bilbo replied with a touch of sternness, stamping down the memories of sleeping in shadowed corners and watching his friends grow more and more desperate.

But he had to admit he was rather excited with the prospect of seeing Mirkwood in its full glory as a visitor, rather than an invisible stowaway to a captive company of Dwarves.

It will be a bit of an adventure… and a dragonless one at that.

Bilbo sighed as a smile started to spread across his face hesitantly.

“When do we leave, Your Majesty?” he asked.

Thranduil smiled and stood gracefully, sweeping his robes behind him.

“I am leaving now for Dale, though I do not intend to leave for Mirkwood until tomorrow before midday. Will that be enough time to prepare?”

“Yes, that will be fine. I don’t have much to pack,” Bilbo said, still trying to wrap his around the prospect of being in Mirkwood so soon. “Is Thorin… Does King Thorin know?”

“I informed King Thorin of my intention to invite you to be my visitor earlier this morning.” Thranduil replied, and he glanced at Bilbo with a knowing look that made Bilbo shift his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. “He did not seem particularly thrilled with the idea at first, but he agreed that it would do well for you to acclimate to your new role.” 

“Well, if he’s not thrilled with me traveling to Mirkwood he probably shouldn’t have made me the emissary to the kingdom.” Bilbo said as he walked with Thranduil towards the doors of the library. 

He managed to keep up with the long strides of the Elves without stepping on the silvery robes that billowed to the floor. When they had left the library, two of Thranduil’s guards turned sharply to attention and the Elves waited as Bilbo shut and locked the library for the night. The guards fell in step behind the Hobbit and their King as the two continued to discuss where Bilbo would meet the Elves in Dale before leaving for Mirkwood and what Bilbo could expect once they had arrived.

“You are of course welcome to stay for as long you would like,” Thranduil said as they reached the grand hall where the rest of the Elven guard had been waiting. “Though I am sure your King would appreciate if I did not rob him of your company for too long.”

Bilbo snorted. “I don’t think King Thorin will mind having a few Hobbit-less days. He has informed me many times that a few select strands of silver in his hair and beard are due to my… what was it again? Ah yes, my “Shire-brand fussing”, as he so fondly puts it.”

“Hmm,” Thranduil replied. Bilbo picked up on the patronizing tone but he had just caught sight of a flash of fire red hair moving through the Elven guard and he grinned as his friend crossed the hall towards them.

Tauriel winked at Bilbo as she reached them, with a flash of mischief in her eye that seemed ever present. “We are ready, My Lord,” she said with an easy bow. “King Bard left a few hours ago and will be awaiting us in Dale by now.”

“Very good. Master Baggins will be joining us there tomorrow before we depart again. See that he has whatever he requires. I would hate to leave the fate of his provisions in the hands of Dwarves.” Thranduil lifted a brow coolly, and Bilbo was sure he noticed Tauriel’s lips tighten though the rest of her face remained impressively reactionless.

“Perhaps I should stay with Master Baggins and accompany him to Dale tomorrow?” Tauriel suggested.

“Oh, no, I don’t want to be any more of a bother than necessary,” Bilbo protested, shaking his head. “I’m sure I can manage a short trip to Dale without a guard.”

Thranduil laughed shortly. “Do you truly believe King Thorin would let you leave without a guard?”

“Let me…” Bilbo spluttered indignantly. “It isn’t up to Thorin where or how I travel, thank you. Besides, I think King Thorin trusts my ability to fend for myself.”

“Oh, I do not doubt that he trusts you,” Thranduil replied, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “Quite the contrary. But Dwarves are known to be protective, are they not? Perhaps overbearingly so?”

Bilbo kept his face composed though he was sorely tempted to glare petulantly at the Elvenking. 

“As I am not a possession, I think you will find it is an entirely different matter. Though I may forgive the Dwarves for their tendency to be protective of those they care for, considering all they have been through.”

Thranduil’s expression became a bit icier at that, his shoulders stiffening. But after a moment he lifted an eyebrow, a slight smile tugging at his lips. 

“It seems King Thorin is more wise than I have given him credit for. You will make quite the diplomat,” Thranduil said in a considering tone. “Abarad, Master Baggins.”

Thranduil nodded to both of them before he swept away, heading for the passageway that would lead out of the Mountain. Tauriel stared after him, shaking her head before shrugging her shoulders and turning back to Bilbo with a broad smile.

“So, you said yes?”

“Do you really think I had much of a choice?” Bilbo sighed.

“Oh, come now, it’ll be fun, Bilbo!” Tauriel said eagerly. “I promise there is much more to Mirkwood than dungeons and wine cellars. Though the wine cellars are rather impressive…”

Bilbo tried to stifle a laugh behind his hand as Tauriel waggled her eyebrows. He realized how much he had missed her companionship, as the months had passed without opportunity for them to visit as frequently as they had in the aftermath of the battle. She looked far less tired and worried than she had in the candle-lit tent, hunched over Kíli for hours on end. It had been the first time Bilbo had seen an Elf look vulnerable, breakable. The tension that had been present in her every move had vanished now and he was glad to see the fierce energy return to her.

“Well, I have to admit I am looking forward to meals with vegetables,” Bilbo joked and almost added that he wouldn’t pass up a bed that was made of something other than stone. But he felt a twinge of guilt when he realized that while he would be sleeping comfortably in Mirkwood and eating much larger meals, the Company would remain here, continuing to labour through repairs and return to mere bedrolls on the stone floor.

And he could easily admit to himself that he would undoubtedly choose a bedroll on the hardest stone floor over a soft, freshly made bed if it meant feeling the warmth of Thorin by his side in the night. Bilbo bit back a sigh. He really was starting to toss all pretense of self-preservation out the window, but he found that ignoring how he felt about Thorin was becoming a rather futile practice in self-control.

Tauriel noticed his silent dismay and laid a hand on his shoulder, giving him a soft smile.

“When Kíli told me you would be the emissary to Mirkwood, he made it sound like it was the simplest decision,” she said. “He tells me you are more valuable to Erebor than you seem to think you are. Perhaps you should try to see yourselves as he does, mellon nin. As all your friends see you.”

Bilbo couldn’t find a suitable response to that so he busied his hands with the hem of his waistcoat and cleared his throat.

“But for right now I think I should see to readying a pony for you and you should pack whatever provisions your kitchens can spare. I will see you in the morning.” She squeezed his shoulder gently before striding away, a hand resting on a dagger in her belt, and Bilbo wondered how someone could look so graceful and yet so lethal at the same time.

It wasn’t until she had disappeared around the corner that Bilbo remembered that he had meant to ask her about training him for the tournament. But with a ride to Dale in the morning and at least a few days in Mirkwood, there was good chance a better opportunity would present itself. He knew training a Hobbit would not be an easy or enjoyable task, especially for a Captain of the Guard. But Tauriel was his best option, and he had committed to seeing his plan through, no matter how completely ludicrous it seemed now. Maybe he could bribe her with baked goods…

With that thought in mind, he made his way down to the rooms in which the kitchen had been temporarily allocated while the remains of the old kitchens were under construction. As he got closer he could hear the Dwarves preparing the evening meal, arguing about spices and how best to prepare a roast with the “suspicious looking plant-things” the Elves had given them.

“…don’t care if it’s got an earthy flavor, it looks poisonous, and it’s not goin’ anywhere near the roast!” Bilbo heard a Dwarf insist petulantly.

“It’s not poisonous, you old codger, it’s rosemary,” Bilbo smiled at the familiar voice and slipped in through the open door to see Bombur removing sprigs of rosemary from a pot as a Dwarf hovered behind him with a disgusted look on his face. “Bilbo put it in a stew once and it changed my life. And the roast’s already finished, so bugger off.”

“Well, I’m glad to know someone appreciated that stew,” Bilbo said, causing all the Dwarves to jump. “With the way you lot wolfed everything down I’m surprised you tasted anything, let alone the rosemary.” 

“Bilbo!” Bombur grinned over the pot. “Good to see you! Hungry?”

“Have I ever said no to your cooking, Bombur?” Bilbo chuckled as Bombur cut him a piece from the roast and tossed it into a bowl already filled with potatoes. Bilbo’s stomach growled as he reached for the bowl, reminding him that he hadn’t had anything to eat since the mid-day meal.  
Despite not being able to take the average number of Hobbit meals in quite some time, his stomach still protested the missed teas and second breakfasts every day. He finished the bowl quickly and groaned in appreciation as he set it down, earning a laugh from Bombur.

“You’ve outdone yourselves this time, Bombur,” he said, giving his stomach a contented pat. “Do you need help taking some up to the hall?”

“No, thank you lad, but would you mind taking these bowls to Balin and King Thorin?” Bombur asked, nodding towards two of the bowls not on the cart headed for the Company. “There was some structural troubles in one of the lower levels and the guilds are starting to fret about how they will be organized. I don’t think those two will be able to leave that room anytime soon.”

“Of course,” Bilbo replied, grabbing a tray for Bombur to place the bowls and two tankards on. “Was anyone hurt in the lower levels?”

“No, no. Thankfully no one except for the surveyors had reached that far,” Bombur replied. “But I’m sure both of them will appreciate the meal and a break from their work.”

“Right, well, I’ll head there now, then,” Bilbo said, carefully balancing the tray in his hands.

“Dinner was delicious, Bombur, even the most uptight Hobbit would welcome you into his smial for that roast,” he added pointedly, hoping Bombur wouldn’t take too much stock in the other Dwarves’ skepticism. He made a mental note to gather as many recipes together in Mirkwood as he could to bring back to his friend. Which reminded him… he would now have to tell Thorin and Balin that he had accepted Thranduil’s offer.

He groaned, walking slower than strictly necessary, not eager to bring up Elves when Thorin was already more than likely stressed after such a hectic day. Maybe he could just let the King know tomorrow morning… as he was leaving. He sighed and stole a potato from Thorin’s bowl before knocking on the door of the room that Thorin and Balin had taken over as a makeshift study until reconstruction of the Royal Wing could be completed. He could almost hear Thorin glaring at the stack of papers that would certainly be scattered on his desk. Bilbo stole another potato for good measure before pushing open the door at Balin’s shout of “come in”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry these chapters are being uploaded so slowly, I'll definitely try to get them up a bit more frequently! Fall quarter has been trying to slowly kill me but finals are next month and then I'll have a nice long break to try to get a good chunk of this done. Thank you to everyone who has been reading this, I really hope you've enjoyed it so far!
> 
> [1] honorless worm
> 
> A BIG thank you to [neo-khuzdul-translator](http://www.neo-khuzdul-translator.tumblr.com) for that translation. They are an amazing resource and if anyone needs something translated or is just curious about what a word would be in Khuzdul, definitely go check them out!
> 
> (And thank you to dragonbilbo for doing all the hard work on that front!)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter before the first part of the adventure begins!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big thank you to squire-reblogs and dragonbilbo for being amazing betas!

“Oh Master Baggins, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Balin greeted him with a sigh, eyeing the steaming bowls on the tray. As Bilbo expected, the table was completely riddled with paper and the light from the candles was so low that Bilbo could hardly make out the Dwarves’ faces.

“I know you mean the roast, but I’ll try not to take it to heart,” Bilbo smiled back at Balin. “I heard you two had quite the day. It looks like someone tried to wage war on you with rolls of parchment! Have you had any time too to eat at all?”

Balin removed his spectacles and rubbed an eye with the palm of his hand. “Bombur came by with the midday meal quite some time ago. Though, I don’t think Thorin stopped to eat. He really hasn’t stopped working since meeting with King Thranduil. It’s been one thing after another, I’m afraid and I haven’t been able to convince him to take a break. Maybe he’ll listen to you, laddie.”

“I am right here, in case you had forgotten,” Thorin grumbled from his desk. “Stop trying to get me in trouble, Balin.”

The weak glow from the candle only illuminated half of his face but Bilbo could see the circles beneath Thorin’s eyes and the deep crease between his brows. He was hunched over a roll of parchment, hair spilling over one shoulder and pulled away from the side of his face nearest to the candle. He looked up at Bilbo, and even despite the small smile he offered, the fatigue was evident in every line and shadow on his face.

Bilbo had a strong urge to drop the tray and pull Thorin away from the stack of papers, and out of the room. He wanted nothing more than to smooth out all the worry from Thorin’s brow and to try to lure out a smile with his lips against Thorin’s. Rationally, he knew that was ridiculous, that Thorin was quite capable of handling far worse than a stack of paperwork and an impatient group of guild masters, and would certainly not appreciate a Hobbit throwing himself at him. 

And Bilbo couldn’t understand why Balin expected him to have any more luck at getting the stubborn Dwarf to see reason. But Bilbo helped clear a space for both Balin and Thorin to eat and set the tray against a leg of the table.

“How was your day, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked, setting down his quill and scrubbing his hands over his face roughly.

“Has he been spelling his name correctly today?” Bilbo asked Balin, ignoring Thorin. Of course he would be inquiring about Bilbo’s day even though he could barely keep his eyes open. If he started lecturing Thorin now on self-preservation and the importance of actually eating his meals regularly, he was certain they would be in that room until the sun rose. So he popped a third potato into his mouth to prevent him from replying to the Dwarf with the snarky comments that were threatening to escape.

“Yes, I have and I am actually present in this room. Can you both see me? Have I disappeared? I believe those are my potatoes, burglar. Would you kindly stop stealing them?” Thorin asked.

“Well if you’re not going to eat, it shouldn’t be an issue now, should it?” Bilbo shot back with a quick glare. “It is a shame though. These potatoes are quite delicious.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes and sighed heavily before standing and shrugging off his fur-lined coat. He pulled the bowl from Bilbo’s fingers, shoving a mouthful of the roast and potatoes into his mouth with a glare aimed at Bilbo and Balin.

“There,” he said through the food. “Are you two satisfied now?”

Balin winked and patted Bilbo on the back on his way to join Thorin with his own bowl.

“Where is your food, Hobbit? Or are you too busy hounding innocent Dwarves to eat that you have neglected your own supper?” Thorin asked, dropping a bit of roast on his tunic in the process.

Bilbo snorted. “I already ate, of course. And I managed to do so without wearing any of it, which is apparently quite a feat for some.”

He could see Balin’s shoulders shaking and Thorin’s glare returned, though Bilbo could see he was struggling not to let the corners of his mouth rise. Before he could retort with some remark on Bilbo’s height or furry feet as he usually did whenever Bilbo teased him, Bilbo turned the conversation to the events of the day.

“I heard you wanted to see me?” he began. “I’m sorry it took so for me to find my way here, but there was so much to do in the library and poor Ori barely sat down at all today and then King Thranduil came by and…”

Thorin had schooled his features into a blank mask at the mention of Thranduil and Balin eyed him wearily.

“Well, it’s getting late, I think I’ll go check on the rest of the lads,” Balin said, getting up of the floor by the fire and gathering his bowl and tankard. “Thank you for bringing supper, Master Baggins. I’ll have to commend Bombur on another excellent roast.”

Bilbo looked from him to Thorin and back again but neither of the Dwarves said another word. Balin made his way out the room hastily. Bilbo knew that the advisor had most likely had his fill of Thorin dealing with Elves for one day and had seized the first chance to escape before Bilbo got him going again.

There was silence in the room once the door shut behind Balin and Thorin stood, his back towards Bilbo, staring into the fire.

“What’s going on?” Bilbo questioned, though the seconds passed without any response from Thorin. “Thorin, is everything alright?”

Thorin cleared his throat and turned to Bilbo, concern slipping through his otherwise neutral expression.

“I am sorry, Master Baggins. I had hoped to find you before Thranduil,” he said. “I assume that he has already requested your presence in Mirkwood?

“Well, yes. But I don’t see why you finding me first would…”

“You don’t have to go, Master Baggins,” Thorin interrupted, taking a halting half step forward before standing still again. “If you do not wish to. It would not make me question my decision to declare you as emissary.”

Bilbo did not understand why Thorin looked so apprehensive about this, as if Thranduil asking him to visit Mirkwood was an unspeakable burden that Thorin himself had placed on Bilbo. He looked even more tired than he had when Bilbo had entered the room, the fire illuminating the silver strands of his hair, setting a sharp contrast with the parts of his raven hair not reached by the light.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’ll go,” Bilbo replied, making his tone as nonchalant as possible.  
“It’s my duty now. Besides, I think I’d like to see the halls of the Elvenking without having to worry about stealing away a company of Dwarves.”

Thorin shook his head. “It is not your job to do put yourself in danger, needlessly. We do not know yet if the forest has been cleared of the evil that lay in it. If you… if something were to…”

It was Bilbo’s turn to interrupt. “Did you expect me to be emissary without ever leaving Erebor?” 

He crossed his arms, beginning to feel tired himself. If Thorin was going to be obstinate every time Thranduil wanted Bilbo in Mirkwood, being emissary was going to be more of a headache than it was worth. “Gandalf said the illness of the forest had been diminished. And even so, do you think I’m not capable of protecting myself?”

Thorin sighed and turned towards the fire once more, hands scrubbing over his face. Bilbo almost felt sorry for being combative. Almost. But the stubborn Dwarf should know by now that Bilbo was not helpless nor ignorant. He knew the risks and he was more than capable of accepting those risks and keeping himself alive.

“I don’t doubt you, Bilbo,” he said quietly. “I would be a fool to do so. I knew that as emissary you would have to travel to Mirkwood eventually. I just… did not expect that it would be so soon.”

Bilbo sighed. He closed the distance between him and Thorin and stood behind him, watching the fire smoulder. They stood, listening to the pop and hiss of the embers dying out, until Bilbo reached up and placed a hand on Thorin’s shoulder.

The tension in Thorin’s shoulders softened. He placed a warm hand over Bilbo’s, completely covering Bilbo’s own and chasing away the chill that remained from a day spent in the library without a fire. 

“When Thranduil asked me, all I could see was your face emerging from the shadows, holding up the keys and returning hope to all of us. I did not miss the darkness under your eyes, the way your clothes hung off you.” Thorin’s gaze was fixed ahead, the reflection of the flames in his eyes. “You starved there. We were behind bars, yes, but at least we could count on meals each day.”

“Stop, Thorin, you can’t feel guilty for everything,” Bilbo said, pulling Thorin away from the fire to face him. He prodded his finger into Thorin’s chest and glared up at him. “I chose to go on the Quest in the first place, so I accepted all of the risks that came with it. So did you and so did the rest of the Company. And now I accept the task of being emissary and all that entails. But I refuse to do it if it means you will feel guilty and blame yourselves for all of the inconveniences I may encounter.”

“You’re asking me not to care about your well-being?” Thorin’s glared back down at Bilbo, ignoring the finger still poking him insistently.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying, though I am quite capable of taking care of myself, and you certainly should know that by now,” Bilbo gave up trying to knock sense into Thorin by means of poking him aggressively and resorted to crossing his arms. “Thorin, it is senseless to carry the burden of guilt for things beyond your control or for the actions that others choose to do. Though I know you will try, because you’re stubborn and absurd.”

Thorin considered Bilbo for a moment, his eyes hard and searching, before he dropped his gaze with a nod. They stayed like that for a few breaths, sleep pulling at Bilbo though he was content to share a moment of peace with Thorin before they returned to the Company hall.

“When do you leave?” Thorin said in a voice barely above a whisper. 

“Tomorrow morning,” he replied. “I’m to meet the Elves in Dale before midday. Tauriel will accompany me.”

Thorin nodded, not meeting Bilbo’s eyes.

“And when will you return?”

That was the first time Bilbo had even considered the question. He assumed Thranduil would want him to stay in Mirkwood for some time, to make sure he learned all he needed to so that he wouldn’t doom both kingdoms to ruin. And he had a trip to the Shire to consider, though he would still need to wait on Gandalf, or find someone else to take him.

He fiddled with a string on his vest, the uncertainty of the future months beginning to worry him.

“I’m… not sure,” Bilbo said. Thorin looked up at him now, disappointment evident on his face.

“But it’s far too late to worry about that now. Let’s leave that for the morning,” Bilbo said, smiling as brightly as he could. If this was to be his last night in Erebor for a time, he did not want to spend it without the sight of Thorin’s smile. “I’d say it’s high time we go find out what sort of mischief your nephews managed today.”

Thorin smiled back at him but it did not reach his eyes. He gazed at Bilbo for a moment longer, eyebrows furrowed as if deciding whether or not to say something. When he finally opened his mouth, he apparently decided otherwise, and closed it with a single shake of his head. Instead, he offered his arm to Bilbo and together they left the study in silence, pausing only to lock the door behind them.

The silence continued to hang heavily between them as they walked back to the common room. Though sleep had begun to pull at Bilbo, he still wished to end the night on a note more cheerful than strained smiles and aborted glances.

“Do you think our little flower is still alive?” Bilbo asked suddenly, remembering the last time that Thorin’s eyes had shone with excitement. The question seemed to shake Thorin out of his thoughts and he gave Bilbo a sheepish look.

“Yes, it is,” he replied, his gaze directed ahead now. “Though not for lack of trying to kill it on behalf of all the guards on their patrol rounds. It became necessary to place an enclosure around it. But now it is protected.”

Bilbo blinked up at Thorin. “You… barricaded a flower?”

“Is that not the purpose of a garden fence?” Thorin questioned.

“Well, yes I suppose,” Bilbo admitted. “But does it still have access to sunlight? Does it have room to grow? Can it still be reached by the rain?”

By the silence that followed and the frown on Thorin’s face, Bilbo assumed the answer to all those questions was no.

Bilbo chuckled and bumped Thorin’s shoulder. Well, he made contact somewhere around Thorin’s ribcage but it was the thought that counted.

“I’ll tend to it in the morning,” Bilbo said, trying to soothe the lines that had returned the Thorin’s forehead. He was not doing a very good job at making the most of his last night in Erebor. “Or… we could go visit it now, if you’d like. To make sure it has not been damaged.”

Thorin met his eyes. And there it was. A little bit of brightness returned with the smallest of smiles and Bilbo felt as if the sun had just broken through on a day of particularly stubborn clouds.  
Both of their steps sped up as they passed the door of the common room, the sound of the Company inside fading as they turned the corner and reached the stairs to the ramparts.

Night had fallen, though it was a cloudless sky and the moon shone brightly enough on the ramparts that a torch was not needed to find their way along the stone. Bilbo was a step behind Thorin, having paused to close the door, as Thorin continued down the ramparts. The eastern wind was blowing softly, tangling moonlight in the strands that fell across Thorin’s shoulders, and the urgency he had felt just moments before dissipated. The night sky seemed to drape across the mountain; the stars, so numerous and bright in the sky that they felt closer than the lights of Dale at Erebor’s feet. Bilbo followed closely behind Thorin, silently watching as the Dwarf walked with starlight framing his figure, wondering how it came to be that a Baggins of Bag End could see a sight such as this. 

They reached the spot where the young bud had sprouted, but it looked drastically different than the first time Bilbo had seen it. Instead of a lanky stem and fragile blossom poking out of the stone, the first flower had been joined by three more blooms, all growing in a tight cluster. But the most distinctive change was the addition of a small perimeter of rubble around the flower, giving the impression of a small, lopsided tower. Bilbo had to bite his lip to stop from laughing.. At least Thorin had had the good sense not to cover the flowers completely.

“Well, it certainly is protected,” Bilbo admitted, fondness swelling in his chest at the image of Thorin carefully placing rubble around the flowers to save them from being crushed. “I can understand wanting to be guarded from your lots’ ridiculous footwear.”

“I’ve said it before, your feet would be protected if you would just…”

“Thorin, you can’t wall in a flower like this,” Bilbo interrupted. “It won’t be able to grow.”

Thorin humphed. “But it will be crushed,” he argued, kneeling down near the flower to rearrange a  
fallen pebble.

“It has managed to grow through the stone of the mountain, before any other flower,” Bilbo pointed out. “It may be stronger than you think.”

Thorin looked unconvinced but stood with a sigh and nodded.

“I suppose you’re right,” he conceded. He smiled and glanced at Bilbo out of the corner of his eye. “After all, I have misjudged the strength of others before.”

“Thorin Oakenshield, are you comparing me to a flower?” Bilbo squinted up at Thorin, hoping that the blush wasn’t too obvious on his cheeks. Bilbo had to remind himself that Thorin had no way of knowing that comparing someone to flowers was a serious business for Hobbits, and as good as a declaration of love.

“I mean no offense, Master Baggins,” Thorin placated. “Simply that you have helped me to see strength where I would not think to consider it.”

Bilbo didn’t know how to respond to that, besides blinking stupidly back at Thorin and trying not to let his blush reach tomato-red level and when Thorin leaned in closer, Bilbo stopped breathing altogether. He could feel the heat radiating off of Thorin, could smell the earthy, warm scent of his skin, and the world started to blur a bit at the edges.

He knew what Thorin was doing, but when he finally felt Thorin rest his forehead against his own, his heart still pounded audibly.

Bilbo let his eyes slip shut, reveling in the calm that came in these moments with Thorin. It felt like curling into his armchair, the fire crackling warmly to dispel the chill outside; he felt safe. It felt like home.

“I know my worry for you traveling to Mirkwood is needless, for you have proved yourself to be more than capable of taking care of yourself,” Thorin’s voice rumbled in Bilbo’s ears, still touching his forehead to Bilbo’s. “But you will be missed. You mustn’t deprive us of our burglar for too long.”

When he leaned back Bilbo reached up absentmindedly to touch his forehead, the feeling of Thorin pressed against his skin still lingering. 

Thorin’s eyes were filled with familiar softness, but there was an edge of something that Bilbo couldn’t quite name. It looked painfully close to longing though, Bilbo thought.

_Bilbo, you foolish hobbit. It’s just a trick of the moonlight. You’re seeing what you want to see._

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bilbo replied, very proud that he managed to keep his voice steady. “You won’t have anyone but Balin nagging you to do unimportant things like eat and sleep. It’ll be a holiday for you.” 

Thorin, once again, looked like he wanted to say something more but then an uncontrollable yawn escaped from Bilbo, and Thorin chuckled.

“Come, you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow. And I would not wish an ill-rested hobbit on anyone, even Thranduil.”

“Ha-ha,” Bilbo rolled his eyes. But he really did have quite the journey ahead of him, and it would not do to be half-asleep on his pony. But before he followed Thorin back to the door and down the staircase, he knelt down and removed the makeshift barricade from around the flower. 

Some of the leaves had been crushed, and one stem was drooping. Bilbo assumed that could either be blamed on merciless Dwarven boots or Thorin’s overbearing, albeit kind-hearted, attempt at protection. But the flower still survived, despite all appearances of being much too fragile for its surroundings. The mountain was its home, after all, and Bilbo suspected the flower would continue to find a way to grow, with a bit of luck. He dusted off his hands on the side of his trousers and joined Thorin where he stood waiting by the door for Bilbo.

The moonlight was just bright enough that Bilbo could see the soft outline of the flower against the stone as he turned to close the door behind him. Bilbo hoped it would be there when he returned from Mirkwood, and that perhaps he could take a scion to start his own mountain garden. He might even be able to convince Thorin to help him tend to it. Bilbo smiled to himself at the thought of Thorin, hair tied up loosely and hands deep in soil, kneeling next to Bilbo and humming softly, surrounded by growing plants. The image stirred something in Bilbo, and he longed so fiercely to share that with the Dwarf walking next to him, that it made his heart ache. 

Bilbo sighed, hoping that the image wouldn’t find its way into his sleep tonight. He didn’t want to face the hollow disappointment the next morning that it had just been another wonderful, torturous dream. The dwarf sleeping by his side was not his to share sun-warmed kisses with in their own little garden and the echoes of Thorin’s words in his ears, against his skin, promising his love, would fade as the day wore on and his dreams gave way to reality. 

_But he is still my friend, first and foremost._ Bilbo reminded himself as he curled into his bedroll and did his best to thoroughly ignore the voice in his head saying that wasn’t nearly enough. He had other things to consider and plan for and he wouldn’t let these ridiculous feelings get in the way and muck everything up.

He had an adventure unfolding ahead of him, and that was quite enough excitement for the Hobbit of Erebor.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the adventure begins!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you to those of you who have been reading this from the beginning and have been so patient with me!  
> If you're just joining us, welcome to the slowest updating in the history of fics!
> 
> Secondly, this chapter was saved from a terrible death by my poor writing thanks to the two best betas in the world, squire-reblogs and dragonbilbo. Seriously, they deserve a box full of puppies and a life supply of their favorite foods.
> 
> I was hoping to post two chapters this time but... life and all that good stuff. It will be here soon though!

As it were, Thorin did feature in Bilbo’s dreams that night.

In his dreams, Bilbo was in the middle of a dusty arena, lying on his back, with the heel of a boot pressed against his chest. A Dwarf stood above him, leering down on him as the crowd that lined the arena jeered and booed.

The Dwarf above Bilbo raised an axe above his head, preparing to strike, but he looked over his shoulder before letting the weapon fall on Bilbo. Bilbo was just able to see that the Dwarf was looking back at a throne in the middle of the crowd, where Thorin sat in full armour with a heavy cloak draped over his shoulders.

Bilbo sighed in relief, assuming Thorin would stop the Dwarf before the blow fell. But when he looked back up at the Dwarf above him, Thorin had taken his place. His expression was disinterested, his lip curled up in disdain as he loomed over Bilbo.

“Thorin, please, help me!” Bilbo begged in his dream, struggling against the weight on his chest.

Thorin laughed, hollow and short. “Why?” He drawled, but the voice wasn’t Thorin’s usual deep, rumbling timbre. It was cold and piercing, the same voice that Bilbo heard when he wore his ring; a whisper that reverberated in Bilbo’s head and rattled his bones. 

“What use do I have of a Shire-rat? You are nothing to me. You have no place here, Halfling.”

The weight on Bilbo’s chest increased until his breath was only coming in short gasps.

“Please, Thorin,” Bilbo choked out, tears stinging in his eyes and blurring his vision. The rest of the Company had joined Thorin, some laughing at his plight, others mocking his pleas.

The weight on his chest had become so restricting that Bilbo’s head was spinning, the edges of his vision going black.

The last thing he saw before the darkness consumed everything were Thorin lips moving, the cold voice whispering in his head once more.

_“I knew you would fail me.”_

Bilbo gasped as his eyes flew open as something shook him out of his dream. 

Thorin’s face was still above him but closer than it had been, and Bilbo flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to squirm away but his limbs still felt heavy and unresponsive, causing him to thrash his head about in an attempt to escape.

“Bilbo! Bilbo, stop you’ll hurt yourself!” Bilbo felt two warm hands cradling his face and he opened his eyes once again to see Thorin leaning closer, face only a few inches away now.

“Bilbo? Hush, it’s alright. You are safe. It was just a night terror.” Thorin said, brushing Bilbo’s hair away from his face as Bilbo simply stared up at Thorin, blinking until the words sank in. 

It had just been a dream, just his subconscious picking through his fears and anxieties. The ill-feeling of the nightmare still clung to his mind, the cold voice from Thorin’s mouth still replaying the same words in his head. 

Bilbo felt a wave of relief wash over him. The Thorin kneeling by him now was so unlike the Thorin from his nightmare; those soft blues watching him were nothing like the cold, remote eyes from the dream, how could he not see that before? 

He struggled to control his breathing for a few moments before realizing that there was still a heavy weight on his chest, pinning him in place 

He lifted his chin, trying to see what was making a very thorough attempt at crushing the life from him, and promptly let his head plop back down.

Somehow, in the middle of the night, Kíli had managed to roll his way over to his bedroll and was now sprawled across him, drooling spectacularly. Bilbo tried to nudge him off but it was like shoving against a wall. 

“Hasn’t changed a bit,” Bilbo heard Fíli’s voice from somewhere nearby. “He still latches onto whoever’s warmest in his sleep.” 

“Would you kindly help move this confounded lump off of me?” Bilbo hissed, still trying to budge Kili to no avail.

Thorin finally moved to extricate Kili from atop Bilbo, managing to do so without waking him. Bilbo wondered if that was a skill he had learned while Fíli and Kíli were still young, needing to move the young Dwarflings after impromptu naps.

Bilbo took a deep breath, enjoying the return of his oxygen supply and Thorin held out a hand to help Bilbo pull himself up. He accepted it begrudgingly, not quite motivated to face the day just yet but there really was no sense in dallying now.

And besides, the feeling of Thorin’s hand around his own was a fair enough compromise for parting with his bedroll.

Bilbo cleared his throat, trying to dispel the sour taste that the dream had left in his mouth. 

“You haven’t had a nightmare in some time,” Thorin said. His gaze was on the stone of the floor, but Bilbo could see that his lips were pulled down and the lines were still drawn on his forehead. 

“No… must have had too much of Oin’s tea last night,” Bilbo said lightly, following Thorin over to the table where bowls of steaming oatmeal awaited the rest of the Company. Bilbo took the bowl Thorin handed him with a nod of thanks, eyes still bleary with sleep. 

Thorin remained quiet for some time, pushing his breakfast around with his spoon and staring at the contents with a frown. Bilbo knew Thorin well enough to know this look, and that he would simply have to be patient if he wanted to know what was causing the storm cloud above his head, for there was no point in trying to pry it out of the Dwarf now. 

Bilbo finished his first bowl and was just ladling himself out a bit more when Thorin gave up on his own breakfast and set his bowl down on the table.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin began and Bilbo shovelled another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth to stop himself from sighing. Master Baggins in that tone usually meant Thorin was about to apologize for something. Thorin lifted his gaze from the stone floor and the weight of the anxiety in his eyes made Bilbo’s hand stop halfway to his mouth with another spoonful. “I know that I cannot stop my… past actions from haunting your sleep. But please, if there is anything that would make your rest more…”

“Sorry, what are you talking about?” Bibo interrupted.

“You said my name,” Thorin said, and Bilbo’s heart sank. “In your nightmare.”

“It was just a silly dream, Thorin,” Bilbo said, trying to figure out how to stop Thorin from feeling guilty about his dreams on top of everything else Thorin managed to feel guilty about. “Really, I blame it all on the tea.”

Thorin looked unconvinced.

“I could sleep farther away, if that would help,” 

“No!” Bilbo nearly shouted, startling Gloin who had just approached the table to take his own bowl. He was not about to let his ridiculous subconscious make Thorin feel guilty and rob Bilbo of Thorin’s proximity. 

“No, that won’t be necessary. I don’t even remember it, honestly,” Bilbo lied. “I think the lack of oxygen was getting to me and my brain must have suspected that a Dwarf was the culprit. It just guessed the wrong Dwarf.”

Thorin scrutinized him a moment longer before he nodded, but Bilbo made a mental note to make a point of putting his bedroll next to wherever Thorin’s was when he returned from Mirkwood.

But any plans of bedroll placement were interrupted by a knock on the door. Óin opened it to reveal a Dwarf standing outside with his fist raised, ready to knock again. The Dwarf froze, nervously looking about him, before entering the room and bowing impressively low.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” the Dwarf blurted out. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“What is it, Feldin?” Thorin asked.

“There’s an… Elf-maid here,” Feldin said, apparently uncertain as to whether that word was allowed to be said aloud. “She says she’s here to take Master Baggins away. Should I… should I seize her?”

“Oh Yavanna, is it time already?” Bilbo said, another spoon of oats halfway to his mouth. “I’ll be just a moment.”

He returned his bowl to the table and went to hastily roll up his bedroll. He briefly considered waking Kíli so that he could see Tauriel, but he knew Kíli had most likely been with her late into the night, which would explain why he was still sprawled by the fire fast asleep.

He looked up from his pack to see Thorin had followed Feldin out of the hall, and quickly turned back to finish packing, trying to save Tauriel from Thorin’s glower as quickly as he could.

“Right, well, I’m off then,” he called out to the hall. “Take care of yourselves, and don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

“You don’t get into too much trouble,” Balin said with a warm smile. He handed Bilbo a waterskin and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. “Have a safe trip, Master Baggins.”

The rest of the Company was by the door, except for Kíli who was still snoring loudly. Dwalin reminded him to be wary of anything the “skinny bastards” fed him and Bombur promised to have his favorite dinner ready for his return. Óin had a pack of herbs for Bilbo that could be mixed into an ointment for riding sores as well as herbs for a tea to help him sleep.

He leaned in conspiratorially as he handed the pouch to Bilbo and said, “Just up the dose and slip it into their wine if ye need to make a quick getaway.”

“Oh, um. Thank you, Óin. That’s very… well, thank you.”

Ori was the next one to say his goodbyes and handed him a small pouch together with a handsome notebook, small enough to fit in a coat pocket, with Cirth runes stitched in along the dark blue binding and cover. He looked at Bilbo a bit sheepishly as Bilbo ran a hand over the smooth leather.

“I was hoping you might be able to take some notes, if… if you want,” Ori said. “I made an account of everything I saw in Rivendell, you see. But I didn’t have anything to write with in Mirkwood. Not that there was much to observe from the dungeons. You don’t have to, of course. Oh, and could you give the charcoal to Tilda? ”

“Ori, that’s a wonderful idea,” Bilbo said, still admiring the notebook. He flipped through a few pages to see Ori’s neat handwriting and small sketches of what Bilbo instantly recognized as rooms in Rivendell. “I will certainly do my best though I cannot promise my sketches will be nearly as good as this.”

Nori’s goodbye and request for Bilbo to pinch some wine goblets from the Elves was interrupted by another loud snore from Kili. Bilbo shook his head and tucked the notebook, charcoal, herb pouches, and waterskin into his pack before shouldering it once more.

He smiled, hoping the Company knew how much he would miss them without him having to say it. He supposed he should say something of the sort but all that came out was, “Right, well. Very good. Make sure that lump doesn’t roll himself into the fire-pit.”

He took one last deep breath before pushing the door open and stepping out into the dim light of the corridor. He had expected to see Thorin interrogating Tauriel, but only the guard stood next to the Elf, eyeing her skeptically and holding his axe so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

“Ah, good morning, Tauriel. Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Bilbo approached the pair, nodding politely to the Dwarf who looked relieved that he was not alone with an Elf anymore.

“I was not waiting for long,” Tauriel replied, smirking at the obvious discomfort of the Dwarf next to her. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, I suppose, I just…” Bilbo said, though his focus was on the corner, hoping Thorin might appear from around it. Just one more second, and he was sure to be there. Surely he would say goodbye to Bilbo? Especially since neither of them knew when Bilbo would return.

“He seemed to be going somewhere in a hurry just before you came out,” Tauriel said, a knowing smile on her lips. “Would you like to wait?”

Bilbo felt his heart sink as the moments passed and Thorin was still nowhere to be seen.

“No,” he said at last, tearing his gaze away from the corner, though he could feel the disappointment weighing heavily in his stomach. “The King must have more important matters to attend to.”

Tauriel looked at him doubtfully but Bilbo shook his head and tried to smile as convincingly as possible. He straightened his back and squared his shoulders; it was time to focus on the road ahead. Thorin was busy running a kingdom, Bilbo could understand that. He could not always monopolize the King’s time, and now he had his own job to do.

“A horse and pony are waiting for us at the Gate,” Tauriel said, beginning to walk away from the Company hall and down the corridor. “We should reach Dale long before midday. I figured you would appreciate a time in the city before continuing on to Mirkwood. You can ride, can you not?”

She winked, knowing full well Bilbo’s disdain for riding any more than was absolutely necessary. And Bilbo never thought it was necessary to go riding. His grimace only made Tauriel more amused.

“And what’s put you in such a good mood?” Bilbo narrowed his eyes at her, though he had a good idea as to the reason for her demeanor. His suspicions were further confirmed by the light blush that crossed Tauriel’s cheeks. But there was no time to tease her, for they had reached the Front Gate, guarded by two Dwarves in full armour.

Tauriel nodded to them and they waited as the guards pushed the heavy doors open. Winter was starting to fade as the Stirring [1] began, and behind the familiar chill, the air held a taste of sweetness as the doors were finally opened and Tauriel and Bilbo stepped out. Bilbo breathed in deeply, and Tauriel joined him, a set of matching grins on their faces as they welcomed the fresh air.

As Tauriel promised, a horse and a pony were waiting for them outside the Front Gate, saddlebags already packed with food and other provisions. Bilbo gave his pony a few pats and a good scratch behind the ear before he mounted, though much less gracefully than Tauriel.

The steeds began a steady clip-clop down the mountain and the sun was trying its hardest to peak through the morning clouds as the path stretched on in front of them; once more Bilbo was heading towards an adventure unfurling before him. He could feel his excitement rising, and he willed it to bury the stubborn melancholy that refused to leave his heart.

“You seem quiet,” Tauriel said, frowning down at Bilbo. “Are you having second thoughts?”

Bilbo shook his head. “No, no, it’s not that. I am very eager to see Mirkwood in its full glory. And I think some time among Elves will be a rather welcome change.” Bilbo smiled at Tauriel, and hearing himself say the words out loud made the road ahead a bit less daunting; made what he was leaving behind a bit more bearable.

“There’s so much to show you, Bilbo. The entire kingdom will be open to you. I promise you will love it.” She was looking ahead, eyes full of excitement, and Bilbo felt a wave of gratitude. Here he was, riding away from a Dwarven kingdom, towards an Elven one, in the company of good friend who was eager to show her home to him. It was surreal, and even the Baggins in him could appreciate how singularly lucky Hobbit he was.

The horse and pony continued down the gentle slope towards Dale and Bilbo allowed himself a look over his shoulder, as pale sunlight broke through the clouds to shine on the eastside of the mountain.

Thorin was there, standing on the ramparts, his fist closed loosely around a flash of silver peeking through his fingers, watching the two of them leave with slumped shoulders. Bilbo raised a hand in a feeble attempt at a wave, and Thorin mirrored the motion a moment later.

It was a poor excuse for a goodbye, but it was enough to quell the thoughts in Bilbo’s head that Thorin had been fine to simply let Bilbo leave without a farewell.

“Are you sure you’re ready to part with your mountain?” Tauriel asked, though her tone clearly suggested she was referring more to a specific inhabitant of Erebor, than to the mountain itself.

Bilbo cleared his throat and clutched the reins a bit tighter. 

The sun seemed to be shining more strongly through the clouds, and he could hear a raven cawing insistently for their meal in Erebor’s aviary. Bilbo knew Dwalin would soon be bounding up the steps, to give the birds whatever scraps he could find and carry, and though Dwalin would never admit that was his favorite part of the day, his love for Erebor’s ravens was well known. He smiled to himself and took another deep lungful of the cool, sweet air.

“Yes, I think I am. I am quite ready for another adventure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] The Stirring, or Echuir, is the time between Winter and Spring, when things are beginning to thaw but the season hasn't quite turned yet. You know the time where the grass is literally _always_ wet in the morning but not frosted?? That's the Stirring!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been about 50 years but this fic finally has an update! Thank you so much for everyone who is returning to this story. I hope to have more frequent updates, as I think I will have a bit more time to write this quarter. And to new readers, welcome! I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> As always, thank you to squire-reblogs and dragonbilbo for being patient and wonderful.

They kept the horse and pony at an easy, steady pace, enjoying the quiet morning and the conversation between them. Though Tauriel visited Bilbo for tea as often as she could, patrol work, treaty translations, and rebuilding had made it difficult for the two to meet at all in the past weeks.

Tauriel had stayed since the Battle, though most of the Elves had traveled back and forth between Mirkwood at least once. Bilbo wondered if immortality had any effect on homesickness. Perhaps, with so many years behind her and so many years ahead, a few months away from home was not enough to make Tauriel feel a pull back to her forest.

“Do you miss Mirkwood?” Bilbo asked, breaking the easy silence that had settled between them.

“Yes,” she said simply, after a while. “I do. Very much so.”

“You must be excited to return,” Bilbo said, worried that he had made Tauriel unhappy with his question.

But her answering nod and smile showed no hint of sadness, though she did look thoughtful, and Bilbo waited for her to tell him what she was thinking.

“The forest is my home. But it is not my world, as it once was. I do not think I will be able to exist in such isolation again, though I am glad for that.”

Bilbo nodded, understanding her words in a way that he knew he would not have a year ago.

“Would you tell me more about your Shire?” Tauriel asked as the horse and pony continued their rhythmic clip-clop down the mountain path. The city was straight in front of them now, though Bilbo could hardly see much of the development beyond the citadel.

“What would you like to know?” It was not the first time they had shared stories of their home with each other, and each time Tauriel drank every detail in with the same wonder he had had when his mother read him tales of the Elves.

She tilted her head and folded her hands on the horn of her saddle, looking up at the light layer of clouds above them. She asked about the stars first, wanting to know the names that Hobbits had given to the constellations above them. Bilbo told her about how his mother would make up her own names for the stars over Bag End, giving them each at Bilbo’s request. She laughed when Bilbo recalled that he had tried to convince the stars to follow him into his bedroom to stay on his ceiling, convinced that they would get cold staying outside all night. He then described the little paths that wound out to East Farthing woods and how he had found a certain tree that bent in just the right way that made it perfect to lean against for an afternoon nap, the sunlight streaming through the leaves to leave a dappled pattern across the tree trunks.  
By the time they reached the walls of the citadel, Bilbo was half expecting Tauriel to drop him at Bard’s door and take off for the Shire herself.

The men on top of the wall had noticed them approaching and Bilbo could hear a bell tolling to open the front gate.

“You miss the Shire, very much, don’t you?” Tauriel asked as Bilbo watched the men bustle atop the wall. He nodded, without looking away. “You must care very deeply for your Dwarves, to have chosen them over such a place.”

“Yes, well,” Bilbo pointedly ignored Tauriel’s eyes, choosing instead to stare at the back of his pony’s head. “I suppose they’ve grown on me.”

Tauriel hummed and Bilbo could practically hear the smile in the sound.

“Oh, don’t pretend they haven’t grown on you too,” Bilbo wagged a finger at her. The front gate opened and the horse and pony passed underneath the new stone archway, Men, Dwarves, and Elves weaving around them, carts of stone and rubble crisscrossing the path ahead. “As if I was the one sneaking out of the kingdom with one of them each night.”

Tauriel laughed and held up a hand in surrender as they followed the two men that had greeted them not far from the gates. The guards led them to the simple stone building in the center of the city that had been rebuilt for Bard and his family, and served as a meeting hall for the new King and his councilors.

Bilbo had only been to the city a handful of times for various feasts or celebrations, and those had been few and far between. He hadn’t seen the progress of the city from closer than Erebor’s ramparts for some time. Now, Bilbo took in the progress of the city around him with amazement. The carcass of a city that he had first seen so many months ago was unrecognizable, replaced as it was with the busy thrum of a city coming to life under tireless work. And with the gold flowing freely from Erebor and enough provisions from Mirkwood to keep all those in Dale, Erebor, and Laketown free from any worry of starvation for the time being, the fatigue and gloom that had hung in Laketown could not be found in the faces of the Men around them.

They passed a small market amid a circle of buildings in various states of repair, the bargaining and chatter accompanied by the steady sound of stone and smith work. Children ran across the path of the small group, all toothy grins and wide eyes as they chased a giggling boy clutching a wooden doll. 

The men led Tauriel and Bilbo up to the center hall and waited for them to dismount, then led the horse and pony away to the stable as another pair of armed men in blue cloaks led them up the stone stairs.

The entrance hall was almost empty, the walls only plainly adorned with the blue, green, and yellow banners of Dale and a single, aging tapestry. Bilbo could just barely make out the image of half a moon and sun resting on a wide river in the faded threads and muted colors. He wanted to get a closer look at the handiwork but one of the guards had opened the door to the dining hall and motioned for Bilbo and Tauriel to enter.

“Mister Baggins, welcome back to Dale,” Bard said in greeting, standing from his place at the long wooden table in the middle of the room. Thranduil was seated at the table as well, across from Bard’s seat, with two guards standing behind him by a large brick fireplace. Tauriel bowed her head to both of the kings before relieving the guards by the fire. Bilbo’s eyes were immediately drawn to the plate of meat and cheese that lay on the table, hoping that the rumble of his stomach wasn’t audible to the rest of the room.

“Are you hungry?” Bard asked, motioning for Bilbo to take a seat at the table, reminding Bilbo again of why he held the King in high regards.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Bilbo said, catching Bard’s grimace at the title. Bilbo knew Bard had only accepted the crown reluctantly, though he had certainly done more than enough to earn it. “It was wonderful to see the city this morning. It’s quite amazing what you and your people have been able to accomplish.”

Bard smiled, a genuine pleasure shining through the visible exhaustion in his eyes. It was a look Bilbo had come to recognize in Thorin, from his visits to the library after a particularly taxing council session or from nights the King stubbornly fought off sleep to listen to his nephews or talk with Bilbo in the Company hall.

“It has not been easy, rebuilding an entire city, but I don’t think any of those who left Laketown for Dale expected any differently. We are very fortunate to have the allies we do to support us.”

“It was hardly your fault that a dragon was unleashed upon your cities. It is only fair that assistance be given to you in rebuilding,” Thranduil said simply, swirling the glass in his hand effortlessly.

“Nonetheless. All of Dale’s people recognize how generous both kingdoms have been,” Bard replied and Bilbo was impressed by how quickly Bard had learned to ignore Thranduil’s subtle insults against the Dwarves.

“Do you have any idea of when reconstruction will be complete?” Bilbo asked. Though the city has certainly progressed since Bilbo had last seen it, the damage inflicted by Smaug and generations of desolation were still obvious.

Bard sighed. “Perhaps a decade, at the least, if we continue at this pace. Though I would like to see those from Mirkwood and Erebor returned to their homes as soon as enough of Dale is stable. But even if the city is rebuilt… these people still have to heal. And I cannot say when that will ever end.”

Bilbo nodded. Of course, all of Dale’s society would have to be woven back together. Even when all the dust had settled and the city was whole again, the people of Dale would still be crafting their own culture, shaping their own identity, and becoming more than a group of resettlers from Laketown.

“Whatever we can do to make sure Dale doesn’t fall victim to the same fate as Laketown, will be done.”

“As you are not an incompetent waste of life as I understood the Master of Laketown and his greasy minion to have been, I do not see such a fate befalling Dale,” Thranduil pointed out, standing to refill his glass from the side table.

“That’s very true,” Bilbo said. “I can’t begin to imagine how much pressure is on your shoulders but you’ve done well by your people so far, King Bard.”

Bard’s ears turned a bit pink and he cleared his throat.

“Well. Dale’s people still have a hard year ahead of them,” he said. “Though King Thorin’s offer at our last meeting has done much to ease at least some of their difficulties.”

“What offer?” Bilbo asked.

“He’s insisted on providing what Dale’s and Laketown’s citizens would have paid in taxes for the next year. To be honest, I’m not even sure how much that would be. But I have a suspicion he’s overshooting that total by quite a bit.” Bard quirked an eyebrow. “He didn’t tell you?”

Bilbo shrugged and shook his head, unsure why Bard was so surprised that Thorin didn’t fill Bilbo in on all matters of state in Erebor.

It wasn’t as if Erebor couldn’t afford such a sum. And it was logical to give Dale the resources that would allow her people to focus on transforming the rubble into a city once again. After all, as Thranduil put it, they _had_ unleashed a dragon on Laketown, regardless of their intentions. Though the reasoning that the Dwarves were to blame for losing their kingdom and home to a dragon was still lost on Bilbo. 

This was the best decision for the future of Erebor and Dale. So there was really no reason for Bilbo to feel that absurd warmth spreading through him or to feel proud of Thorin for offering such a thing to Bard.

A knock on the door pulled Bilbo out of his thoughts and he turned to see Bard’s youngest daughter slipping through the door.

“Tilda? What’s wrong?” Bard rose from his chair again and moved towards his daughter instantly. 

“Nothing’s wrong, father,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek before leaning around him to wave at Tauriel and Thranduil. Tauriel returned the wave with a grin and Bilbo was surprised to see a glint of warmth in Thranduil’s answering smile.

She looked back up at her father with a pleading look in her eye, and Bard hesitated for just a moment before nodding with a sigh. Tilda moved past her father to approach the Elvenking and Bilbo noticed that she was holding two sheets of paper behind her back, one of which she proudly displayed to Thranduil. Bilbo glanced over at Bard with a questioning look but Bard just shook his head, watching the scene with a doting smile.

“It’s Tuilalcaron,” (Glory of Spring) Tilda said. “He wouldn’t stand still when I was sketching so Sigrid had to hold up a branch to get his attention.”

“So it is,” Thranduil said a bit haltingly, holding the paper gingerly. For a fleeting second, the king’s eyes appeared to betray the years that were hidden behind his ageless face. Such heavy sadness, the likes of which Bilbo could not begin to fathom, and he wondered what it was about a child’s drawing that could fix such grief into those piercing grey eyes.

Tilda began to frown but Thranduil’s expression relaxed, as much as Thranduil’s expression could ever be considered relaxed, and he gave the girl a small smile. “ _Agoreg vae._ [1] May I keep this?” Thranduil asked, and Tilda nodded with a pleased smile, leaving Thranduil’s side and approaching Tauriel.

“I made one for you too. That’s you and that’s an Orc that you’re stepping on. See?” Tauriel laughed and bent down to take the drawing from Tilda with an exaggerated bow of her head.

“I will treasure this dearly,” Tauriel said in a very serious voice, making Tilda giggle. It wasn’t until she turned back to her father that she noticed Bilbo sitting at the table as well and her face lit up in surprise.

“Mister Bilbo! Are you staying with us too? Have you seen the city? There’s actual ground here, not just docks and walkways! Is Erebor very big? Is it cold inside the mountain? Da says…”

“Tilda, Tilda take a breath,” Bard stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him with a sheepish grin. “Mister Baggins is only here until he leaves with King Thranduil and Captain Tauriel later today. So I’m sure he’d appreciate a bit of rest and not an interrogation?”

“Oh, no, it’s alright,” Bilbo assured. He had grown fond of Bard’s children during their time in Laketown. Tilda especially, with her curls and curiosity, reminded him of some of the fauntlings from the Shire, always ready for a story, always wanting to know more about the world.  
“Ah, let’s see here… Erebor is very big, far too big for a Hobbit. And I’ve found that, despite being skilled in many things, Dwarves are apparently quite horrible at giving directions. It can get terribly cold inside the mountain, and though Dwarves do not mind the cold as much as you and I, they do keep fires roaring in every room.”

_Except the library, apparently._

“I have not seen much of your city, though I would very much like to. Perhaps when I return you would do me the honor of being my guide?”

Tilda’s eyes flashed in excitement and she wheeled around to cast a pleading look on Bard.

“You won’t be able to find a better guide in all of Dale,” Bard smiled at his daughter and tugged her hair, earning a grimace from Tilda. “She’ll have drawn at least a hundred maps by the time you return.”

“Ah! Yes, I almost forgot,” Bilbo said, reaching for the pack tucked at his feet. “This might help with that, and I’m sure Master Ori would be delighted to see they’ve been put to good use. Oh gracious, where did I put it? Aha!”

Bilbo found the pouch of charcoal in his pack, slightly rumbled, but Bilbo could feel the blocks were still intact. He stood from his chair and handed the pouch over to Tilda who accepted it with wide eyes.

“Oh! Mister Bilbo, thank you so much!” Tilda tipped the pouch, emptying the thin blocks of charcoal into her hand before rushing forward and catching Bilbo in a hug that bordered on strangling.

“Well!” Bilbo coughed, and Tilda released him to carefully place each stick reverently back into the pouch. Bilbo rubbed his ribs discreetly. “You’re quite welcome but I’m simply the deliverer. I’m sure Master Ori would greatly appreciate a map of Dale, especially from a fellow artist.”

“I’ll start right now!” Tilda said with an excited grin. “When will you return? Or should I send it sooner? Do you think a Raven could find Master Ori in the library? Can a Raven carry something so large?”

“Alright, one step at a time, Tilda,” Bard said, directing her towards the door. “Start your maps and we’ll sort out the rest later, I promise.”

“But Da…” Tilda protested, but Bard shook his head.

“You’ll see Mister Baggins when he returns and you can send your map with him back to Erebor to thank Mister Ori. It will be a surprise for him, and you will be well prepared to take Mister Baggins on a tour of the kingdom. Is that acceptable?” Bard asked, opening the door for Tilda.  
Tilda considered for a moment, then nodded with a bright smile.

“I wish you all safe travels,” she said with a curtsey, and Bilbo could tell it was a well-rehearsed parting for the various Elves and Dwarves she had seen in her home the past months.

Bard sighed as he returned to his seat though the fond smile and softness in his eyes was clear.

“That was very kind of Mister Ori,” Bard said, refilling his glass with water from a pitcher. “Drawing is a great joy for her. If I could bend the world to my will I would have her be released from any worry besides what her next canvas and subject will be.”

“You have done well by your people, King Bard,” Bilbo repeated. “Dale looks much more like a place to call home now. I do not think that kind of life is out of reach for your daughter.”

And it was true. Tilda, Sigrid, and Bain would know a much better life than they had in Laketown, thanks to Bard’s leadership and the wealth of Mirkwood and Erebor beginning to flow through it once more.

Bard stood motionless behind his chair, holding his glass halfway to his lips. He set the glass down and raised an eyebrow at Thranduil before smiling warmly at Bilbo.

“King Thorin has made a wise choice in appointing you as ambassador, Mister Baggins,” he said and Thranduil nodded once.

“So I’ve been told,” Bilbo muttered. “I think it’s a bit too early to be passing that judgement, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“Well, now that we’re on the subject,” Thranduil rose from his chair fluidly. “If you are ready, we will take our leave.”

Tauriel took that as her cue to depart, Bilbo assumed to retrieve all the Elven warriors that would be traveling with them.

“Oh, right, of course,” Bilbo rose as well, shouldering his pack and patting all his pockets for the hundredth time that day to make sure he had not forgotten anything.

“It was good to see you again, Mister Baggins…”

Bilbo waved a hand. “King Bard, please. I’ve crawled out of your toilet, you can just call me Bilbo.”

Bard grimaced.

“Excuse me?” Thranduil said, both eyebrows raised. “I must have misheard, what did you just say?”

“No, no, you don’t want to know, trust me,” Bard said shaking his head. “Shouldn’t you two be going now? Daylight and all that?”

Bard crossed the room and opened the door, narrowing his eyes at Bilbo.

“You’ve spent too much time around Dwarves, Mister Baggins,” he said and Bilbo laughed.

“Yes, I supposed they are rubbing off on me a bit,” Bilbo admitted. “As long as I don’t start growing a beard, I shall continue to consider myself a proper Hobbit, though maybe not a respectable one.”

Bard laid a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Enjoy your time in Mirkwood Mister Baggins. I am sure your Dwarves miss you already.”

Thranduil snorted.

“Yes, do warn me if you see Thorin and the rest headed towards Mirkwood to steal Bilbo back,” Thranduil said, brushing past Bard and Bilbo and out the door.

“Have you forgotten that I was the burglar?” Bilbo retorted. “King Thorin will manage quite well without me, I am sure.”

Thranduil and Bard exchanged a look as Tauriel swept into hallway, declaring that all was ready and the convoy could depart immediately.

“If you require anything, or if the Dwarves become too unruly, do not hesitate to send word to me,” Thranduil said to Bard. “ _Na lû e-govaned vîn, savo 'lass a lalaith._ ” [2]

Bard smiled and clapped a hand on Thranduil’s shoulder, causing Thranduil’s eyes to widen comically.

“Thank you, my friend,” he said. “Have a swift and safe journey. You are welcome here any time, and on my honor, next time the wine will not run out so quickly.”

Thranduil laughed genuinely and after giving Bard a more traditional Elvish farewell, with an arm across with chest and a slight bow of his head, he led Tauriel and Bilbo out to the awaiting convoy.

Thranduil’s huge elk, Tuilalcaron, towered above Bilbo, heat rising off his enormous haunches in the cool air, as Bilbo made his way to his own pony. With only a little boost from Tauriel, and most of his dignity in-tact, Bilbo managed to vault into the saddle astride the patient creature. The Elves around him that had horses also mounted, and those that did not fell in behind Thranduil.

“How long will it take to reach Mirkwood?” Bilbo whispered to Tauriel who was already seated on her chestnut horse.

“On horses, only about a three day ride. But some of us lack steeds and Dale cannot spare any as of yet. So I would expect we will reach Mirkwood in five days.” Tauriel winked at Bilbo. “Besides, we wouldn’t want our esteemed emissary to fall off his pony in exhaustion.”

“Oh, how very kind of you,” Bilbo retorted. “At least riding a pony is significantly more comfortable than clinging to barrel for dear life.” He shivered at the thought of spending any time in river water and the dreadful cold that had followed his barrel-riding escapade.

Tauriel raised an eyebrow and grinned.

“You know everyone will still want to know how you managed that,” she warned. “Emissary or not.”

Bilbo grimaced. “Lovely.”

_Oh it was nothing really, I just popped on my magic ring, it makes me invisible, you see? Well, you wouldn’t I guess, that’s rather the point._

Yes, that would certainly make a wonderful first impression as the new emissary. 

The horn sounded then, and the Elves turned as one to face the path that would lead them toward Esgaroth and then along the Forest River to the Elvenking’s Halls in Mirkwood. Bilbo settled into his saddle, making a note to bake Óin as many pies as he possibly could manage in thanks for the ointment he was sure to need by the end of the long ride ahead of him.

He wondered what the Dwarves were doing now, as the gate closed behind the last row of Elves. It was just about time for the midday break and meal, so Ori was most likely still hunched over a catalog, completely lost to the world. Most of the Company would be trailing dust as they made their way to the Company hall. Balin would be taking a well-earned break too, and Bilbo hoped he had succeeded in dragging Thorin away from the throne or the councillors of the guild-masters or whatever was keeping Thorin from resting for a moment.

He wondered, for a second, if Thorin would truly miss him. Miss him in the way that made his chest tighten, made him feel like there was something not quite right wherever he went, with whomever he was with. But Bilbo was not a fool and the thought was quickly silenced and locked away. Thorin would be far too busy to spare too many thoughts for Bilbo, let alone feel the dull ache of missing someone in that way.

Bilbo felt it, though. He felt it nestled right between his shoulders, like a constant pull back in the direction he came. He straightened his back instinctively, trying to alleviate the sensation but he knew it was no use. Still, a better posture would make for a less abysmal ride, at least.

“We should reach Laketown by the end of tomorrow, though I doubt we will stay in the town itself,” Tauriel’s voice broke through his thoughts. “There does not look to be rain on the horizon, but if the clouds continue to thin, we are in for a cold night.”

Tauriel was looking up at the sky as she spoke but then glanced down at Bilbo with a playful glint in her eye that rivaled even Kili’s mischievousness

“I hope the fur on your feet lends a little warmth,” she said, with a grin.

“Gah! You sound like a Dwarf,” Bilbo laughed.

Tauriel shrugged, the grin slipping into a fond, crooked smile. “Their humor is quite infectious, is it not?”

Bilbo thought back to the night his dinner was interrupted by a bumbling group of raucous, ravenous Dwarves. “Infectious” was definitely _not_ the term he would have used to describe them or their humor. 

But whether he had gotten use to them, or simply was not the same Hobbit he once was, even Bofur’s downright lewd humor now had Bilbo chuckling, though an eye roll usually followed. 

In front of Tauriel and Bilbo, Thranduil led the convoy on Tuilalcaron, his silver and green robes draping over the sides of the animal. Bilbo let his mind drift as his pony swayed beneath him and the sound of the march behind him kept a steady pace. He didn’t even notice as he began to hum one of the Company’s favorite drinking tunes with an absent-minded smile on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] You've done well.  
> [2] Until next we meet, have joy and laughter.  
> Tuilalcaron means glory of spring, and yes, my denial of death knows no bounds. 
> 
> Next chapter, we'll return to Erebor to see how the Dwarves are dealing without their Burglar. Someone may or may not be pouting.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is not grumpy. He's absolutely not grumpy. If one more person calls him grumpy, he's going to flip a table over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to become very apparent in this chapter that I am not Scottish and have a very limited grasp on writing a Scottish accent. Bear with me. There was at least an attempt.

Balin stopped at the door to Thorin’s study with a sigh, his hand clutching the letter that Roäc had just delivered to him. He hoped, for the sake of his and the rest of the Company’s sanity, that the contents of the letter from Lady Dís would help lift Thorin’s mood. The past week had not been particularly pleasant; meeting after meeting with the council and guild masters, each filled with more shouting than the last. Not that that was anything Balin wasn’t familiar with, but a morose King was certainly not improving the situation.

The bad mood had started the first night after Bilbo had left with Tauriel. Thorin had been almost silent all through the rest of the day, one hand twisting what looked like a silver trinket of some sort, over and over, the entire time he sat upon the throne. Later, once he had finished with dinner, Thorin had set his bedroll down with a long glance at where Bilbo usually slept, before sweeping out of the room with a huff. Balin had found him in his study the next morning, where he had fallen asleep over a stack of reports on his desk. Balin knew the reason behind Thorin’s gloom, even if he would never admit it out loud. The King simply missed the Hobbit. The entire Company missed Bilbo, and not knowing when their Burglar would be returning was not lending anyone any comfort.

But only one of them was sulking, though Balin wasn’t exactly surprised that Thorin was reacting in this way. Thorin was stubborn and proud, but he cared for those he loved with the heat of a burning forge. Pair that with an almost artful mastery of brooding and it had made being in Thorin’s company for the past week less than enjoyable, if Balin was trying to put it politely.

Balin rapped his knuckles against the wood of the door twice before entering the room. To his surprise, it was Dwalin who first greeted him upon entering.

“Finally,” Dwalin said in lieu of a greeting. “Maybe you can make this lumphead see he’s bein’ a royal pain in the arse.”

A book connected with the back of Dwalin’s head and thudded to the floor, and Balin looked over to the desk, from where the ineffective weapon had been hurled. Thorin sat in his usual seat, hunched over his desk, while his crown and furs lay forgotten on a spare chair nearby.

“Balin, tell your brother to stop pestering me and go find someone else to shout at,” Thorin said from his seat, scribbling on one of the many papers scattered in various states of disarray across the top the desk.

“I wouldn’t have to shout if ye weren’t being such a child.”

“Wanting to finish my _duties_ is being a child? How rude of me to let ruling a kingdom come before your every whim for a sparring session.”

“Ach, don’t mention it, now get your arse out of that chair.”

“Dwalin, I’m not going. I have work to do,” Thorin gestured vaguely to the piles of paper in front of him. “You might have noticed, if you had stopped berating me for long enough to see the state of my desk.”

“Thorin, fer the love of Mahal, ye’ve been poutin’ for a week now. It’s either spar with ye or punch the glare off yer face, and yer bloody lucky I’m giving you the choice.”

“I am not _pouting_ ,” Thorin said, clearly offended, which only made his glare deepen. Dwalin looked pointedly at Balin, but Balin simply shook his head. He knew when to pick his battles. “I’m _busy_. I would be less busy if I could have a moment’s peace to finish this. So unless you’d like to help, go away.”

“I _am_ helping, yer just too thick to see it,” Dwalin growled. Balin moved closer to the fire, laying a hand on Dwalin’s arm as he passed.  
“How do ye put up with him all day?” Dwalin asked, as Balin tucked the letter under his arm to rub his hands over the heat.

“Now lad, don’t be rude. It’s been a long day,” Balin replied. Though he agreed wholeheartedly with Dwalin’s opinion on the matter, his methods left something to be desired. Prodding Thorin now would only lead to more scowling and Balin was already surprised there wasn’t physical storm cloud hovering above Thorin’s head. Though, Dwalin had always been more of the prod-first-ask-later between the two of them.

“It’s been a long bloody week, Balin. It’s not healthy for him have a stick up his arse for this long.”

“Unless you have a piece of paper in your hand,” Thorin said, his tone becoming steadily icier. “And are offering to help reduce this stack, I don’t want to hear your opinion. I have a pile of books here to throw at you, Dwalin. Do no tempt me.”

Any reply from Dwalin was cut off by Fíli and Kíli barging through the door, already talking animatedly with each other.

“Hello Uncle!” Kíli greeted cheerfully.

“Oh, Mahal,” Thorin groaned. “Why is this happening?”

“We came to cheer you up! Been awfully gloomy lately, though I think we all know why,” Kíli crossed the room in a few steps, standing next to Balin to warm his hands over the fire as well. “Fíli told me you growled at Ulfir today.”

“I don’t deserve this,” Thorin muttered.

“Not like it’s the first time though, really. And he probably deserved it. How do you do it, though?” Kíli asked, before attempting a growl. The noise sounded more like the death rattle of a wounded animal, but Kíli wasn’t dissuaded. “I’ve never been able to get it quite right.”

Fíli tried to help then, producing a noise a bit closer to a growl, though still not exactly intimidating. By the time Dwalin had stepped in to teach the boys proper growling techniques, the quill in Thorin’s hand looked dangerously close to snapping.

Thorin’s hand slammed down on the desk as he stood. “Enough! Dwalin, take Fíli and Kíli. Spar with them. Just… leave me alone and let me finish this or I will put you all on latrine duty for the next month, do not test me on this.”

The three Dwarves stopped mid-growl. Kíli looked ready to protest, but Fíli caught him by the shoulder and followed Dwalin out of the room. Dwalin pointed a finger back at Thorin before he closed the door.

“Ye can’t avoid me kickin’ yer arse forever.”

Thorin plopped back down into the chair as the door closed, his head fall back against the headrest for a moment before scrubbing his hands over his face and picking his quill back up. He squinted at Balin, weariness heavy at the edges of his eyes.

“Is that from the guilds?” He pointed to the parchment, still tucked under Balin’s arm, with the tip of his quill. “For Mahal’s sake, please say no.”

Balin chuckled. “No, laddie, I think the guild will leave you alone for the rest of the day.”

Thorin snorted and cast a petulant glare at the remaining stack of parchment on his desk. “I highly doubt that. They seem to enjoy adding more grey to my hair.”

Thorin sat up a bit straighter and the expression on his face shifted as he looked back at the letter, now in Balin’s hands. Balin caught the glint of barely restrained hope in Thorin’s eyes before tje expression was schooled into something more neutral.

“Bil- Master Baggins should have arrived at Mirkwood by now…” Thorin began.

“Aye, that he should have,” Balin agreed, handing the parchment over to Thorin. “I expect we’ll hear from our burglar soon. It’s not from him, laddie.”

The poorly disguised disappointment on Thorin’s face cleared as soon as he recognized the insignia stamped in blue wax on the outside of the letter.

“Dís,” Thorin said with a smile, as he split the seal to open the letter. Balin took a seat in one of the wooden armchairs by the fire and watched Thorin’s expression carefully as he read through the letter.

Thorin’s lips were moving, his eyes squinting slightly to make out the leaning scrawl of Dis’ handwriting. His eyebrows were furrowed for most of the letter, reading with an interest that the old trade logs and guild reports on his desk would never induce. Balin considered reminding Thorin to wear the spectacles that Oin had crafted for him with Bofur’s help, especially with only the light of one candle to aid his reading. But Fili’s similar suggestion at the council meeting that afternoon had been answered with a searing glare from Thorin, so Balin remained silent and instead relaxed into his chair, waiting for Thorin to relay the news of the letter.

Though it had been many months since Balin had last seen the Lady Dís, he had always felt as if she was traveling on the Quest with them. For he could see hints of her in Fíli and Kíli. Fíli carried her unshakeable surety in his shoulders and calculating wit in his glance and in Kíli, Balin recognized Dís’ kindness and talent for mischief, as well as her thirst for adventure.

Somedays, it had made traveling with the boys that much harder; knowing what might be lost by the end of the Quest, and how many would suffer if the Company were to fail. Families, loved-ones, friends: all of them had been hoping beyond chance that those who had left on the Quest would be returned hale and whole to them once more. But having Fíli and Kíli along on the Quest was also a daily reminder for Balin; that Durin’s Folk would always possess a hope that no dragon or exile could vanquish. A reminder that their strength would always lie in the hearts of Dwarves like Fíli and Kíli, regardless of how the Quest unfolded.

Though somedays, Balin had to admit, he did miss the days of their youth, when a nap was just around the corner for those boys, bringing a moment of peace without the worry of what trouble they would get into next.

Thorin stood with the letter to join Balin by the fire. Balin knew, from all his long years as a friend and adviser to Thorin, that Thorin tended to think on his feet. Which meant that there was something in Dis’ letter that had given him reason for contemplation.

“What news from the Blue Mountains?” Balin asked. “Does Dís have plans to return to Erebor?”  
Thorin nodded, though his eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes distant.

He handed the letter to Balin and stood nearer to the fire, his back turned so that Balin could no longer see his face.

Balin patted his various pockets until he found his old spectacles and, after rubbing them gently with a smooth scrap of cloth he kept in his boot, balanced them on the edge of his nose to begin reading the letter.

_Dearest brother,_

_I accept that you are practically elderly, but do you think you could find it in yourself to reply to my letters with a bit more speed? And don’t tell me that you are too busy, I am your only sister and may I remind you I am also running a kingdom and still manage to reply to promptly return correspondence?_

_Even though your last letter was woefully short on detail, I cannot not tell you how good it is to hear that you are well, my brother. I do hope that are not understating the extent of your injuries, though, because we both know I will find out the truth eventually. I am so proud of you, Thorin. We all are, though I was proud of you before you ever left on that insane Quest with my only sons.  
Speaking of; hug my boys for me, please. I know you love them above all else. But by Mahal’s beard, I am never letting them out of my sight for the next one hundred years. I have never felt this powerless before, with them being so far away and not being able to do anything to protect them. I do not intend to feel this way ever again. And when exactly did you plan to tell me that my youngest son was in love? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? He has yet to tell me who or many other details, for that matter. What is he hiding? I do wish the both of you would wise up to the reality that you cannot hide things from me for long. And perhaps, among all your duties and kingliness you can find the time to tell your dearest sister more about this burglaring hobbit I have heard so much about? I do so look forward to meeting this Master Baggins of Bag End._

_Please remind Fíli to sleep, at least a little. And that his little brother is not as breakable as he worries. I have a pile of letters from him, Thorin. My little sun. He loves Erebor already, and it has made me homesick with each line that he writes to me, and I barely remember anything of Erebor beyond flashes of my childhood imagination. Ered Luin has given me love and memory, but you have taken my true home with you, across the Misty Mountains and there they stay, by your side in Erebor. So I plan to come home. I miss the weight of my sons in my arms more than anything, Thorin. It is an itch beneath my skin, like a part of me is missing and I am no longer whole. It is not a feeling I wish to prolong._

_I sent out word, that all the Dwarves that wish to return to Erebor, to live there or to help with restoration, should begin preparations to leave. If I am not mistaken, every single Longbeard has already added their name to those that wish to make the journey and live permanently in Erebor. The first journey will bring many old residents of Erebor back to their home, and it is an honor to be among them. Though, I think first we should consider some of the logistics? How many can Erebor take in her current state? I do not think it wise to lead an entire exodus across Arda without first being able to provide them adequate space to live in. And I know you said that supplies are maintaining at suitable levels, but how many mouths are you feeding at the moment? Will that level of supplies carry a sizeable Dwarven population through a year?_

_I propose the following, and I know you will see the wisdom behind it. The Dwarves wishing to return to Erebor will be leaving an entire life behind them. It will take time for matters to be settled, as I do not wish to see this home fall to ruin either. Ered Luin has served our people well and I will not see it neglected. Once such personal matters are settled and enough supplies have been stocked without burdening the remaining Dwarves too greatly, the first caravan will leave for Erebor. By the time we reach the Mountain, the next wave will depart from Ered Luin, giving each group time to settle and assist in the continued restoration of Erebor._

_I know it is not the grand homecoming that we all dreamt of, but a homecoming it will still surely be. If all goes well then, brother, I will see you as soon as mid-spring._

_Please do try to return this letter before I arrive?_

_May Durin watch over you, and keep you all safe, until I can arrive and make sure of it myself._

_All my love,_

_Your sister,  
Dís_

Balin chuckled.

“As clever as ever,” Balin said, setting the letter on a side table. “Fíli and Kíli will be glad to hear this. Though, I think I might take a trip to Dale when Dis finds out some of the details of the Quest.”

Thorin turned away from the fire with a sigh.

“Yes, there are some particulars that I… skimmed over in my letters to her,” he admitted with a wince. “But I wonder…”

Balin waited patiently as Thorin glared at the stone floor to gather his thoughts.

“I have long dreamt of welcoming my sister back to Erebor. To show her all of the places that Frerin and I told her of when we spoke of home.”

Another pause, the silence punctuated only by the logs falling and shifting as the fire continued to blaze.

“I wonder if she will be disappointed to see our great kingdom now,” he said quietly, more to himself that to Balin, though it still stung Balin’s heart as if Thorin had shouted it.

Balin understood Thorin’s trepidation; Dís knew Erebor more by the stories that her family told, than through memory, stories told with the weight of reverence, longing, and grief. The great forges, though lit, had not settled into the distinctive hum that so many Dwarves had sighed about wistfully in Ered Luin. The Royal Wing was still basically uninhabitable, though a cleaning crew had been newly assigned to the task just yesterday. And despite having a fire lit in every room that still possessed an operational ventilation system, the stone around them still lacked the hint of constant warmth that Balin had once known.

“Do you expect Dís to stay away until restoration has been complete?” Balin questioned after a time. “I pity the poor Dwarf who would attempt to suggest such a thing to her.”

He stood to stand by the fire, facing Thorin from the other side of the mantle. Thorin was still attempting to break through the stone at his feet with the sheer weight of his glare alone and did not look up at Balin until he gently spoke his name.

“By the time she has arrived, restorations will have greatly progressed,” Balin reminded, but the furrow of Thorin’s brow only deepened.

“Dís is not traveling across Arda expecting to see a great, shining kingdom,” Balin continued. “She is coming to celebrate the return to a homeland. And most importantly, she is traveling to see her brother and her sons once more. I think, my lad, that is the reason at the forefront of her mind.”

Thorin appeared to consider Balin’s words for a moment before he nodded, though Balin could tell Thorin was still deep in thought. 

“Thorin, is there something else?” Balin questioned. Thorin took a deep inhale, and shook his head, as if attempting to dispel his thoughts.

“No,” he said, and Balin knew that tone meant that he would be able to pry no more information from Thorin.

Thorin moved to the chair Balin had left open, and picked up the letter from the side table. A smile settled on his lips as he skimmed through the words again.

“You know what the boys will say when they read this letter, don’t you,” Thorin said without even looking up from the letter. There was fondness in his tone and Balin nodded with a smile.

“Aye, I do,” Balin answered. “It’ll be hard to argue this one. They’ll put up quite a fight, I think.”  
Thorin snorted and waved the letter a bit. “I wonder where they get that from.”

Balin could almost hear Bilbo’s voice pointing out that Thorin was certainly not in a position to cast judgement when it came to proficiency in arguing.

Balin was about to begin addressing some of the advantages of the idea, which Fíli and Kíli would certainly argue for until they were out of breath, when Thorin held up a hand to stop him.

“If they weren’t already standing right outside the door, I would ask you to call my nephews back in,” Thorin said, his voice slightly louder as he looked over his shoulder towards the door. “They will need to prepare quickly if they are going to be of any help to their mother.”

Balin didn’t even jump at the loud thump against the door and only chuckled at the muffled Khuzdul from just outside. Fíli and Kíli entered the room a moment later, Fíli looking slightly sheepish as Kíli’s grin was wide enough for the both of them. Thorin handed the letter to Fíli’s already outstretched hand with an impressive enough glare, though corners of his mouth were soft.

The two read through the letter after only a little shoving and jostling for a chance to hold the parchment. Fíli’s brows tucked momentarily, and Balin suspected he had either reached the words about him, or was picking up on loneliness in Dís’ words.

Kíli, on the other hand, simply looked up from the paper with a wide grin.

“When can we leave?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my wonderful betas squire-reblogs and dragonbilbo


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One would think that in the absence of snoring Dwarves sleep would come much easier. And yet...
> 
>  
> 
> In which Bilbo reacquaints himself with Mirkwood, spends some quality time with Dorwinion wine, and discovers that the true reasons for his visit here might be even more political than he had originally thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to squire-reblogs for her amazing beta work!

In all Bilbo’s years, he had never _once_ used the words _too soft_ to describe a bed. In fact, it seemed quite immoral to refer to a bed in such a way. They were _supposed_ to be soft, and fluffy, and lovely. There was no such thing as too comfortable a chair, too red a tomato, or too soft a bed.

When Bilbo had first been shown his room in Mirkwood, the first thing he did was to collapse on top of the large, ornately carved bed and curl himself into the silky sheets with an indulgent sigh. Though, the sigh may have been more of a result of the amount of wine he had consumed at the welcoming feast that night… The feast had allowed Bilbo to be introduced to many of the Elves living within the Elvenking’s Halls, most of Thranduil’s advisors, and Thranduil’s favorite beverage: Dorwinion wine. Bilbo remembered vaguely recognizing the name of that wine and precious little else from that night.

He woke the next morning with an overwhelming appreciation for the lack of light in his room and the complete silence around him as he nursed an impressive headache.

But the next night, without wine to aid a dreamless sleep, Bilbo tossed and turned atop the soft mattress for so long that he was awake to hear the early morning greetings between Elves as they passed his room. He was only able to catch an hour or two of restless sleep once he had pulled the silky blanket and pillow from their rightful place and curled up on the much more familiar sensation of the stone floor.

This night found him on the floor once again. He had attempted the bed for a few hours, but accepted, much to his consternation, that it was indeed too soft and so he created his makeshift bed upon the floor. It made him feel a bit less out of sorts, but the silence in his room was distractingly stifling. Bilbo tried humming and singing softly, had drawn the line at outright talking to himself, but was still far too alert in the eerie silence to find any relaxation.

 _I must look absolutely bonkers_ , he thought with a huff as he pushed a curl away from his cheek for the third time. _Curled up on the floor with a perfectly good bed right beside me. Certainly no proper manners for a Hobbit._

When the same errant curl fell into his face for the fourth time, Bilbo gave up entirely. There was no sense in lying about if sleep was going to prove elusive once more.

Perhaps he could find the fixings for tea…

He rolled out of the cocoon of sheets he had made and slipped into the freshly laundered clothes laid out on a chair. He had declined the offer of Elven robes as a change of attire upon his arrival, quite sure that even the robes of an Elvish child would not fit to Hobbit proportions.

An Elf, whom Tauriel had introduced as Glandur, had given one disparaging look at the state of Bilbo’s attire upon his arrival and had insisted on mending everything. Bilbo hadn’t even taken offence at that because of the prospect of _matching buttons_!

He splashed a bit of shockingly cold water on his face from the basin on the desk, in an effort to pull himself from the limbo of not-quite-asleep and not-quite-awake, and closed the door silently behind him. The hall outside his room was still silent and vacant, though someone had apparently already been by to light the sconces. Bilbo guessed it must have nearly been sunrise, the few moments of early morning that were usually ignored for the pull of ten more minutes of sleep.

Even empty, the halls of Mirkwood seemed alive. The pale walls seemed to radiate with an constant inner light. Even a Hobbit could tell that there was magic here. The Elvenking’s Halls continued quite deep into the earth, as Thranduil had explained to him the night before. But there were parts of the Kingdom that were built fairly close to the surface, close enough for real, living roots to hug the stone in sprawling tendrils and Bilbo could always hear the dim roar of a waterfall as it plummeted through the upper levels.

And of course, there were many parts of the Halls that Bilbo recognized, from his time spent in the shadows. He knew, for instance, exactly where that waterfall would lead him if he followed its descent. He knew that if he took a right outside of Thranduil’s throne room, continued straight for eighty steps, took a left, forty more steps, a right, down the stairs, and four more lefts, would lead him to Mirkwood’s largest pantry. He knew exactly where the dungeons were, and how many steps it would take from the first cell on the left to the cell that had held Thorin.

He had not ventured again to that part of the Kingdom. Not only to avoid the memory of watching his friends’ eyes grow more panicked with each passing day, but also to assure the numerous Elves that eyed him with unmasked suspicion that he had no intention of stealing againfrom them.

 _That_ particular conversation had gone… about as well as Bilbo could have hoped. He had remained jovial and self-deprecating when the questions of his miraculous feat had begun. He even managed to completely skirt the possession of his magic ring, crediting his success at remaining unseen to shadows and good timing.  
\------------------------------------------------

_“How long were you sneaking about?”_

_“Oh, long enough. I’m surprised no one smelled me after the first week, to be honest. I wasn’t able to find a place to bathe safely for at least a fortnight.”_

_“Two weeks? How did you manage to steal food for that long?”_

_“Ah, see, that was the trickiest bit. The Dwarves gave me some of their food, what I would allow them to spare. But Hobbits, as you can see, are rather fond of food. I believe I owe you a fair amount of cheese. And bread. And venison.”_

_“Seems like a lot of trouble to go through for Dwarves, does it not?”_

Bilbo had instantly bristled at that, and a few rude suggestions that would have made Bofur and Nori proud came to mind were very nearly offered in reply.

But Thorin’s warm smile at Bilbo’s acceptance to be emissary flashed across his mind and he swallowed his words. He wouldn’t dash the prospect of reconciliation between Dwarves and Elves just because he wanted to upend his wine cup on one Elf’s ridiculously shimmery hair.

_“Yes, well. I would blame the Took side of me, but I expect watching one’s friends grow desperate behind bars would give anyone cause for rash behavior.”_

There had been a long, uncomfortable silence after that. And though Bilbo didn’t regret making it clear he would hear no words against the Dwarves, he was worried for a moment that even those words had caused damage.

But then Herion, a Royal chef, had laughed and leaned back in his chair.

 _“Do you remember when Melcinitan had young Prince Legolas stay in lessons for two hours longer than usual and little Tauriel armed herself and Baranthon’s twins with sharpened twigs to rescue him?”_  
\---------------------------------------------

A loud rumble from his stomach interrupted Bilbo’s attempts to decide which direction to follow as the path split in two front of him.

“Are you attempting to find more Dwarves to free?”

Bilbo spun around, clutching his chest in surprise at the sound of Tauriel’s voice, having not heard any indication that he was being followed.

_Damn these Elves!_

Bilbo took back all of the times he had ever bemoaned the noisiness of Dwarves, as his heart continued its attempt at crawling out of his throat.

At least Tauriel had the decency to not laugh at his state, though the look on her face suggested it was quite a task for her to not to do so.

“I am sorry, _mellon nîn_ , I did not mean to frighten you,” she apologized. “I had only hoped to bring you what you needed for tea, but your room was empty.”

She nodded to the tray in her hands then, showing Bilbo the array of tea and cups that she had brought.

“Bilbo, did you sleep at all?” Tauriel asked, her face slipping into concern. “You look terrible.”

“Oh, lovely,” Bilbo laughed, hand still clutching his chest. “It’s not too hard to look terrible next to you lot, you know. This trip has been the biggest hit to my self-esteem. But I was, in fact, hunting for a cup of tea. Would you care to join me?”

Tauriel narrowed her eyes at him, clearly unconvinced with his dismissal, but she nodded and walked with Bilbo back to his room.

It wasn’t until Bilbo opened his door and let Tauriel in that he did remember the makeshift fort in the middle of his floor. Tauriel took the sight in front of her in with an arched eyebrow before setting the tray down on the desk. Bilbo frantically tried to think of an appropriate excuse for why he wasn’t sleeping in the bed, that hopefully didn’t make him sound as insane as he felt.

“I brought some tea that will help you sleep, as well,” Tauriel said simply, with a warm smile, before moving to rekindle the fire that Bilbo had let neglected during the night. “Though I must give my compliments to Master Óin, for I have not tasted so sweet a sleeping draught as the one he gave to you.”

“Coming from any Elf but you, he would certainly take that as an insult, I’m sure,” Bilbo chuckled as he pushed a chair closer to the warmth of the growing fire. “I hope you didn’t get up early just to bring this to me.”

“No, I’ve spent the morning training with the newest guards,” Tauriel said as she hung the kettle on its hook above the flames and took a seat on a chair across from Bilbo. “The spiders have become far fewer in number but we are still sending more scouting missions to push them out of our borders completely, which means the new guards will need to be prepared.”

Bilbo suppressed a shudder at the memory of the sound of the spiders’ voices in his head. He had never particularly cared for spiders, but at least the long-legged ones from the Shire had never been known to attempt to eat a stray Hobbit. He knew Bofur still insisted that Bombur kill any spiders that managed to find a way into the Company’s hall.

He said as much to Tauriel, who snorted in a rather un-elflike manner, and the conversation turned to what Bilbo had come to like most about Mirkwood and how his first days as emissary had passed. Bilbo admitted he had hardly done anything worthy of the title of emissary yet, as Thranduil had yet to hold any meeting of actual consequence with him.

Tauriel raised a brow at that. “Bilbo, you do not actually believe Thranduil invited you here because he wished to discuss topics of importance?”

Bilbo blinked. “I’m… well, yes. I did? Why else would he-“

“He is testing the Dwarves, of course. King Thorin, in particular,” Tauriel said, leaning forward slightly and dropping her voice so that Bilbo had to lean forward as well.

“Testing them? For what? Are you suggesting Thranduil means to go back on the treaty?” Bilbo demanded, his throat beginning to clench.

Erebor would not survive if the Elves decided to turn on them, not now.

Tauriel shook her head as the kettle began to steam and the faintest whistle could be heard.

“No, he does not mean to null the treaty,” Tauriel assured as she stood to remove the kettle. “But do you mean to tell me that, since Thorin has signed the treaty as well, that he trusts Thranduil?”

“Well, no of course not. But I fail to see how inviting me here under the pretense of introducing me as ambassador changes that.”

“Oh I have no doubt that he truly did want to introduce you as emissary, as well. Bilbo, you must know that this is the best possible situation for Thranduil,” Tauriel explained as she tipped the kettle over each cup. “Your acceptance of this role means there is one less Dwarf for Thranduil to have to deal with. Not to mention he thinks quite highly of you. The title of Elf-friend is not given lightly.”

She handed Bilbo’s mug to him, the steam billowing with the motion. He reached out to take it, though his mind was still trying to understand what he could be missing that seemed so obvious to Tauriel.

The steam on his face was a comforting warmth and Bilbo was instantly reminded of just how little sleep he was operating on. He shook his head with a frustrated sigh.

“I still don’t understand. I was under the impression I was invited here to understand Thranduil and you lot better. But I’ve been here for three days now, and I can honestly say I haven’t the faintest clue what it is I’m supposed to be doing,” Bilbo took a large sip and hissed as the still-too hot tea burned his tongue.

Tauriel smiled at him over the rim of her own cup as she gently blew the steam away. She seemed to consider something for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was soft but sure.

“You care for King Thorin?”

Bilbo choked on his tea, burning his tongue once more.

“I beg your pardon?” he spluttered.

“By that, I mean do you trust him?” she scooted forward in her seat and set her tea down as she watched Bilbo.

_With every bone in my body._

“I trust all of them,” Bilbo replied, taking extra care to cool his next sip enough to avoid further injury.

“And Thranduil does not. He has no reason to,” she said with a shrug. “I am not saying I agree with his actions.” Tauriel paused with a grin. “I usually don’t.”

“But he has seen this forest and this kingdom through many seasons. I cannot begin to explain the rationale behind his beliefs nor tell you the root of his distrust for the world around him,” Tauriel picked up her mug once more and took a sip. “But he holds no trust or care for Dwarves, you know that much.”

“But how can any treaty be expected to last if neither side is willing to offer at least some trust?” Bilbo questioned. “Everything we have worked for until now will be completely pointless if both sides see only empty words.”

“Exactly!” Tauriel nodded. “Do you see, then, why Thranduil would invite you here?”

“I have exactly no idea,” Bilbo let his head fall backwards with a thunk against the wood of the chair.

“Bilbo, what do you think an emissary is responsible for?” Tauriel pressed on.

“Ah, to support trade between two kingdoms and foster peace through diplomacy and cultural understanding,” he recited, feeling slightly relieved that he knew the answer to at least one of Tauriel’s questions.

“And if that position were filled by someone the King cared for?”

Bilbo shrugged but a thought occurred to him and he held up a hand to pause Tauriel’s next words.

“When we were in Dale,” Bilbo began, understanding beginning to dawn on him. “Thranduil requested Bard to inform him if Thorin set off for Mirwood-”

Tauriel nodded. “That was not just a jest. Kíli told me of how Thorin behaved under the gold sickness. How he treated you. Thranduil didn’t need to be told.”

“He’s testing to see if Thorin is still paranoid and possessive,” Bilbo stated before his jaw clenched over the choice words he would have liked to share with Thranduil.

“Yes. And to see if the Dwarves are truly willing to establish diplomatic ties. Thranduil wants to make sure Thorin hasn’t simply given you the position as an incentive to stay in the Mountain with him.”

Bilbo threw one hand up in frustration, as his other hand was clenched rather tightly around his cup.

“Did he have this suspicion before or after his fourth glass of wine? Tauriel, that’s absurd!”

“Is it?” Tauriel challenged.

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose. It was still far too early and there was still too little tea in his system to debate such complete nonsense. But any further discussion was interrupted by a knock on Bilbo’s door.

“I am sorry to disturb you, Master Baggins, but Captain Tauriel is needed at the front entrance,” came a voice from outside.

Tauriel set her cup down with a frown and opened the door to reveal an Elf who had clearly been on guard duty, judging by the rain that dripped from their cloak.

“What is the matter, Limwen?”

“I am not sure, Captain. I was only told to you inform you that three Dwarves have just arrived, and one claims to know you.”

Bilbo stood from his chair in an instant, managing to knock his cup to the ground and spill the remainder of his tea.

Tauriel whipped around and held a hand out to stop Bilbo as he attempted to barge past both of the Elves to see for himself.  
“Bilbo, stop,” she commanded before facing Limwen again. “Is the King among them?”

Limwen looked obviously confused, though at the moment Bilbo had little concern for being polite enough for patience.

“No,” they replied. “I believe Kíli is the name of the one who insisted that you would know him.”

“Kíli?” Bilbo echoed. “That means Fíli is with him. Did they say why they were here?”

Limwen nodded. “They claim to be on their way to the Blue Mountains. They have asked for shelter for the night, and specifically requested not to be put in the dungeons.”

“Why on Arda would they be going back to the Blue Mountains?” Bilbo wondered aloud. “And who else is with them?”

“Let’s find out,” Tauriel said, dropping her hand to let Bilbo through. “Thank you, Limwen. You may change.”

Bilbo waited until they were out of sight of Limwen before he let his barrage of questions loose.

“What would make them travel back to the Blue Mountains? Why now? Has something happened? Maybe Thorin is ill and they need help? But then why wouldn’t they have gone to the Iron Hills? Or Dale? I suppose Dale wouldn’t be much help in its current state. Why haven’t I received a letter? Do Dwarves even fall ill? I mean, besides from dragon sickness, of course, but I think that is rather a rare case. Perhaps if he was brought here-“

“Bilbo!” Tauriel hissed. “We will have all our questions answered in a moment. But you need to be prepared. If this turns out to be exactly what Thranduil was testing for-“

“It’s not,” Bilbo interrupted, with a finality in his tone that was more for himself than Tauriel. He wouldn’t even consider that. Not now. Not again.

Bilbo kept up with Tauriel as best he could, needing to move his feet much quicker to match Tauriel’s hastened glide through the corridor.

By the time they turned the corner to the entrance hall, Bilbo was ready for a lie down. If not just to catch his breath, then to stop the panicked pounding of his heart that he knew was not only from the running.

He took a deep breath in a last ditch effort to compose himself as the three Dwarves came into view. Bilbo quickly recognized Dwalin’s imposing figure standing by Fíli and Kíli and the smile on Kíli’s face drained the panic from him so quickly that he had to grab Tauriel’s elbow to stay upright.

“It’s not-“ Bilbo began.

“I know,” Tauriel breathed with a smile and Bilbo could see her shoulders relaxing.

“So kind of ye to let us in without restraints,” Dwalin grunted as soon as he knew they could hear him.

“Welcome back,” Tauriel replied with that hint of mischief in her eye that was now mirrored in Kíli’s. “King Thranduil will be glad to have you with us. Though, I must warn you, the meat supply has been rather low so we’ve had to do without for the time behind.”

Dwalin balked a bit at that and even Fíli’s face fell slightly. 

“Oh honestly, you’re both children,” Bilbo scolded, though he was too happy to carry too much heat in his tone. Besides the initial relief, having the three of them in front of him had made him realize just how much he had missed all of his Dwarves.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one, as Kíli came forward and pulled him into a crushing hug.

“We’ve missed you so much, Bilbo!” he said as Bilbo swatted his arm frantically to save his poor ribs from an overenthusiastic Dwarf. 

“Yes, please, Bilbo, never leave again,” Fíli continued, grabbing Bilbo into another bruising hug as soon as he was released by Kíli, who pulled Tauriel off to the side.

“Alright, alright, you brutes,” Bilbo gasped. He gulped in a deep breath as soon as Fíli released him, pressing a hand to his tender sides.

“Are they feedin ye, lad?” Dwalin asked him, glaring over at Kíli and Tauriel, who seemed quite content to simply be near each other once more. “Ye look exhausted.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Bilbo dodged, ignoring when Dwalin turned his glare on him. “Would you mind explaining why you’re all here?”

“Yes, please do,” Thranduil added as he swept around the corner and came to stand in front of the group. “We’re all curious as to why you’ve decided to pay us an unexpected visit. Again.”

Bilbo could hear practically hear the curses forming in Dwalin’s head, but thankfully Fíli stepped up and gave Thranduil what might have even passed for a quick bow. Bilbo was sure Fíli would pass it off as an involuntary head twitch if he questioned him about it later.

“I apologize for our unannounced arrival, King Thranduil,” Fíli began. “We did send a raven, but it must have lost its way among the… trees.”  
Bilbo stomped on Dwalin’s foot to preemptively cut off the laugh he knew would come after that thinly veiled slight. Though Bilbo was, admittedly, a bit proud that Fíli had managed to insult the Elvenking without shouting or threats.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at him momentarily before his face slipped back into the perfect image of impeccably elegant apathy.

“How unfortunate. To what do we owe this pleasure?” Thranduil asked again.

“We have received word from our mother that the Dwarves from Ered Luin will begin their journey to Erebor soon,” Kíli cut in, moving to stand by his brother. “We are riding out to meet them along  
the way and escort them home.”

“How sweet. And you are here because…”

Kíli’s eyebrows knitted together and he looked back towards his brother and then to Tauriel, seeking assistance.

“Because we’re… riding out… to welcome our people home?” Kíli tried again, clearly unsure which part of this concept was hard for Thranduil to grasp.

“And we thought our allies would be able to offer us accommodation fer the day,” Dwalin added, with a glare that would wilt another Dwarf’s beard. It was ineffectual on Thranduil, though.

“Ah, I see. You are requesting food and shelter,” Thranduil sufficed. “Kind of you to ask. Locien, would you show our guests to their rooms? I suggest you go quickly, as breakfast has already started.”

The Elf referred to as Locien looked thoroughly distraught with the order before Bilbo stepped in.

“King Thandruil, I can take them,” Bilbo offered, too impatient to wait for the three of them to return to the main hall to answer all his questions. “I needed to return to my room before breakfast anyway.”

“Very well,” Thranduil said with a nod as he strode towards the feasting hall.

“Do try not to break anything, while you are here,” he added over his shoulder before the door closed behind him.

“I’d like te break yer face, ye inbul-hibir fundhamâd-ublag,”[1] Dwalin growled.

“I should follow him,” Tauriel said with a sigh. “I have little doubt that he suspects you are here for reasons other than travel.”

“But we just got here,” Kíli very nearly whined. “Can’t you speak with him later? We’ll be leaving tomorrow anyway, and then he won’t have anything to be suspicious about.”

“No, she’s right, Kíli,” Bilbo said, shaking his head. “I’ll explain along the way to your rooms, but she should go.”

Tauriel brushed her lips against Kíli’s forehead before she swept away and disappeared behind the doors to the Main Hall, leaving Kíli looking slightly dazed.

“Somethin’ wrong with yer hands, Bilbo?” Dwalin questioned, as Bilbo led the way back towards his room.

“I’m sorry?” Dwalin’s question had caught him so off guard that he had to look down at his hands to verify that they were still in their proper place and unharmed. “What an odd- no, of course not, I-“

“Then why haven’t ye sent a letter to Thorin, tellin him ye made it here alright?” Dwalin demanded.

“Oh! Well I… figured that the lack of letter declaring my untimely death would probably suffice,” Bilbo replied.

Truthfully, he had considered writing to Thorin a few times, but everything he had wanted to say seemed too inconsequential to put in a letter to a busy king. _The weather is terrible. How was council session today? Do remember to eat lunch. I miss you._ He had even started writing a letter yesterday, but each attempt had ended crumpled up and tossed into the fire.

“I didn’t think he was waiting on a letter,” Bilbo admitted.

“Of course, he was waitin’,” Dwalin replied, looking at Bilbo like he had just announced he wanted to try living with a Warg pack.

“We were all waiting, Bilbo!” Kíli interjected. “Well we knew you were alright, because Tauriel wrote to me but-“

“But we still would have liked to hear from you,” Fíli interrupted.

“Ah, well,” Bilbo supplied lamely, unable to resist a smile at the thought that perhaps he had been missed. “I am sorry, in that case. But never mind that now, I’d very much like to hear about this letter from Lady Dís.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Pointy-eared lembas muncher  
> Probably one of the more tame insults Dwalin has used in regards to Elves.


	14. In which Dwarves do not know how to knock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would Bilbo do without Fíli and Kíli to prod him along? Probably drink another cup of tea and think about Thorin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy! It's been a few months. I'm not even sure if anyone is still reading Bagginshield fics, but I've missed it, so here's a new chapter :)
> 
> If you have no idea what's going on in this story anymore, join the club! But also maybe reread the last few chapters to jog your memory. The long and short of it: Thorin loves Bilbo, Bilbo loves Thorin, they both are clever in most things and really stupid when it comes to throwing back a strong ale and admitting this to each other.  
> Also Bilbo is going to kick some Dwarf ass... eventually.
> 
> This is unbeta'ed. So if you catch a typo, you win!.... the ability to let me know I've made a typo. Sorry in advance!

Bilbo settled into a chair with his fresh cup of tea and stared unseeing at the unlit fireplace in front of him. The practiced motions of pouring hot water from the kettle into a teacup below, had relaxed the furrow between his brow, if only slightly. After one of the most stressful breakfast meals Bilbo had ever endure, he had returned to his room feeling no more relaxed than he had that morning. With Dwalin managing to eat every morsel on his plate without breaking his glare towards Thranduil, Kíli making ridiculous faces at Tauriel to break her composure, and Fíli cleaning his knives at the table while smirking at the Elves arrownd him, Bilbo had been so stressed he had almost not gone back for seconds. In the end, he did manage to slip away and rather forcefully request to be given the fixings for tea so that he could prepare it in his own room. On top of all that, Bilbo was still unsure about what exactly he was meant to be doing in Mirkwood, even more so now after Tauriel’s words. But he was also becoming more confident that he wasn’t going to get any straight answers from Thranduil, and the arrival of Fili, Kili, and Dwalin while passing through to Ered Luin now appeared like it might be a blessing in disguise. 

The need to visit the Shire clung to him like a rain-soaked shadow, which was… confusing. He loved the Shire. He longed to see Bag End and breathe in the air beneath the twisting trees that always seemed to smell sweeter than anywhere else. He would always associate the Shire with a sense of home. But lately, when he thought of home there was the Shire, yes… but there were also strong warm arms that could wield a sword or pull Bilbo into a hug that set his heart racing, there were unbelievably kind and piercing wise blue eyes, there was the sound of 13 dwarves laughing and talking over each other, happy and hale and together. 

But if he was to open a chapter on this new wonderful and chaotic and slightly overwhelming home, he would first have to close a chapter on the other, at least for now. Even if that meant being away from his new home for a bit. Perhaps… perhaps he could impose on the group to make a quick stop in Bag End to pick up a few belongings for him instead. But then again, his Dwarves were retuning to Ered Luin in order to assist their kin in returning to a reclaimed kingdom. He couldn’t possibly ask such a task of them, not when they had a far greater duty to attend to. 

_He could see it now… a great caravan of Dwarves, Princes and a Princess among them, traveling across Arda to return to their homeland… and a cart full of Hobbitish furniture bouncing along behind them._

No, no, that would not do.

But… the flowers would be just about blooming by the time the trio passed the Shire. It wouldn’t be too terrible a journey to make, not with Fíli, Kíli, and Dwalin with him, at least for part of the way. If he could just get to Rivendell, he might be able to to make it the rest of the way on his own, or at least try again at reaching Gandalf…

The possibility of feeling Shire earth beneath his feet once more sent a spark of excitement through him, but it did not drown out the pang of unease he felt when he considered how long the journey would be. And he knew that unease had nothing to do with a reluctance to be traveling again, and everything to do with what this journey, and the months ahead of him, would be lacking.

Bilbo absentmindedly rubbed his chest, at the tightness he felt when he considered being away from Thorin for such a time. It was ridiculous, and foolhardy, to allow himself to even consider missing Thorin as an adequate excuse to not make the trip, he knew. But when he allowed himself room to be honest with himself, for just a moment, he knew that the homesickness he had been feeling since he left Erebor was entirely due to his feelings for Thorin. 

The steady breath Bilbo exhaled against the surface of his tea to calm his thoughts broke into a long-suffering sigh when the door to his room swung open without the slightest pretext of a knock, and two Dwarf Princes barged in, talking at full speed.

“Oh, do come in,” Bilbo said without lowering the cup of tea from his lips, and without waiting for the brothers to stop their bickering. “I’m glad the closed door proved no barrier to you two. I was awfully worried that might give off the impression that I was relaxing and wanting to be left in peace.” 

If his words were heard by either Fíli or Kíli, neither of them acknowledged it, as Kíli flopped down onto Bilbo’s bed dramatically and Fíli stood in front of him with a smug expression on his face and arms folded across his chest.

“Bilbo, where are your pillows? Did they not give you a blanket?” Kíli wondered, cutting off a rather effective insult aimed at his brother.

“Bilbo, get a good look at my brother here,” Fíli said. “It may be one of the last time you are able to do so while he still draws breath.”

“Oh stop being so dramatic,” Kíli whined, evidently forgetting his investigation of Bilbo’s stripped bed. Neither of them seemed to notice the pile of blankets in the corner of the room, an oversight which Bilbo was exceedingly grateful for. “I’m sure once Amad hears my side of the story and sees how lovely Tauriel is, she’ll be happy, and there will be nothing to worry about.”

“Well I guess when you’re dead, there won’t be too much to worry about,” Fíli said, leaning against the bedpost. “You have a point there.”

Bilbo lowered his tea with another deep sigh as Kíli landed a solid kick into Fíli’s gut. 

“Can I help you two, or would you like to continue acting like wild fauntlings and ignoring me in my own room?” Bilbo asked.

“Bilbo, you’re the diplomat, can you please talk some sense into my brother,” Fíli implored, taking a seat in the chair across from Bilbo and rubbing his stomach with a wince.

“What has he done now?” Bilbo questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m right here!” Kíli interjected. “And I haven’t done anything, except try to bridge years of cultural tensions between two noble races.”

“Oh dear,” Bilbo replied as Fíli snorted.

“He wants Tauriel to come with us to meet Amad,” Fíli explained. “Even though he hasn’t seen Amad in almost a year, and the shock will more than likely give our poor mother a heart attack.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes, but then considered that Dís was related to Thorin, and that this may not actually have be an exaggeration.

“Though I have not met Lady Dís, I am sure that with all the necessary patience of raising you two, her reaction will not be so severe,” Bilbo reasoned. He did have to admit, the stories he had heard of Thorin’s sister, some from Thorin himself, had made her seem like quite the force to be reckoned with. 

Though anyone who could bring such softness and clear adoration to Thorin’s eyes when he spoke of them had earned Bilbo’s respect without reservation. He anticipated their eventual meeting with a cautious excitement and a healthy dose of fear. 

“She’s going to have to meet her eventually,” Kíli pointed out. “But this way Amad can get to know her and…”

Bilbo snorted when he caught onto Kíli’s line of thought.

“You’re trying to get you mother on your side before Thorin can get to her?” Bilbo guessed.

“Well… yes,” Kíli admitted sheepishly. “And it would be nice to not have to be without Tauriel for such a long journey.” He added with a grin and Bilbo couldn’t stop the flip in his stomach when he realized he knew exactly how Kíli felt.

“I don’t remember what it was like to not have a brother,” Fíli mused, running a hand over the braids of his mustache. “It will be quite the change, but not necessarily an unwelcome one, I think.”

Bilbo was about to admonish him for that, when a boot flew across the room, connecting with Fíli’s noise with a _thunk_. 

Bilbo squawked at the splash of hot tea that fell into his lap in his reaction to the airborne boot and stomped his foot.

“That’s enough, you two!” Bilbo insisted, taking great satisfaction on the surprised expressions on both Fíli and Kíli’s faces. “Kíli, have you spoken with Tauriel about this?”

Kíli sighed as he stood to recollect his boot. “Yes, but she…” he paused, shooting a glance at Bilbo as he passed. “Well she does have duties that she is concerned about leaving. Nothing a little persuasion can’t fix.” He said with an easy shrug. 

“And then there’s the issue of the King,” Fili pointed out.

“Ah, right…” Kíli admitted, shoving his foot back into his boot. “Convincing His Royal Highness might be a bit trickier…” He paused in his actions and looked up to consider Bilbo with the most ridiculously hopeful expression that Bilbo had ever seen. “Maybe you could talk to him Bilbo!”

“Absolutely not!” Bilbo insisted with a quick shake of his head. “I’m already in over my head as it is, trying to figure out what I’ve gotten myself into here. And frankly, not only would I not wish the horror of your lack of personal hygiene while traveling on Tauriel, but she seems to be the only one who really knows what’s going on here, and I am loathe to let you take her away now.”

“But Bilbo!” Kíli whined. “You of all people should be on my side with this!”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Bilbo spluttered

“Hold on, Kíli, that’s a good point,” Fíli interrupted. “Do you really want to leave Bilbo here without anyone we can at least trust more than Thranduil?”

“Oh, honestly,” Bilbo rolled his eyes. “I am perfectly safe here.” Fíli looked truly unconvinved, but Bilbo ignored him and continued.

“Kíli, I am on your side, and I do think Tauriel should be allowed to go if she wants to.” 

Bilbo held his hand up to stop the interjection from Fíli and the oncoming outburst from Kíli. “But I think your brother is right in that you need to consider the position you will be putting Lady Dís and Tauriel in. What if you don’t get the reaction you are hoping for?”

Kíli was clearly about to argue, but his shoulders deflated and he glared at the fireplace gloomily.

“I just…” he said in a quiet voice. “I’ve met my One, Bilbo. I want to share that with my Amad, and I wish… I know it won’t be easy. But I want to do this. I want Tauriel to know that, regardless of what we face in the future, we’ll be facing it together. And I’m willing to fight for that future.”

Silence overtook the room for a few moments. Bilbo glanced over to Fíli, who was watching his brother with warmth and pity in his eyes, before standing to retrieve two more cups from the tray across the room and pouring each of them tea. 

It wasn’t until Bilbo had sat back down and held his own cup close to him that he made up his mind, and spoke again.

“I have an idea,” he started cautiously. “I’ve been trying to make a decision about something recently, and it seems this might offer a solution for both of us, Kíli.”

“Really?” Kíli asked, with clear hope in his eyes.

“You know I’ve been meaning to return to the Shire,” Bilbo started, but Fíli and Kíli’s expression instantly fell and he was soon interrupted by two angry Dwarves. 

“What?”

“No, we did not know that!”

“What do you mean return to the Shire?” 

“Don’t you want to stay with us?”

“What about being emissary?”

“What about us? What about Uncle Thorin?”

“Hold on! Hold on, you two!” Bilbo managed to shout above the brothers’ clamoring. “Not forever! For Yavanna’s sake, I only mean to gather a few things. Settle my affairs. Make sure no one unpleasant has moved into Bag End. Of course I want to stay with you, how am I supposed to fall asleep now, without the sound of snoring loud enough to shame a Warg to lull me to sleep?”

The wide grins on the brothers’ faces made Bilbo huff and roll his eyes, even as a smile tugged at his lips.

“Honestly, you’re both ridiculous.”

“I never doubted for a second that you would stay with us,” Kíli said with a sniffle.

“But it is nice to have the assurance,” Fíli added.

“And nice to know we won’t have to put up with Uncle Thorin’s moping,”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Fíli snorted.

“Anyway,” Bilbo interrupted. “I was going to wait to hear word from Gandalf, but I’ve begun to realize that if I keep waiting on the whims of a wizard, I may never see my armchair again. So…”

“So you can come with us!” Kíli said, jumping up. “But that’s a perfect plan! Why didn’t we think of that?”

“Uncle Thorin,” Fíli replied simply, in between gulps of his tea, and Bilbo shot him a look of confusion.

“Yes but we won’t be there to deal with that,” Kíli pointed out.

“Ah, good point, but poor Ballin,” Fíli replied with a slow shake of his head.

“Consider it payback for all those horrible lessons…”

“Excuse me, have you forgotten again that I’m also here?” Bilbo interjected with a huff. “Would you like to know how this plan will help you, Kíli?”

“Oh, right,” Kíli smiled at him sheepishly. “Sorry Bilbo.”

Bilbo sniffed and took a sip of his tea before explaining. 

“King Thranduil will see right through this, I am sure. But having Tauriel accompany the ambassador to Mirkwood as he settles his affairs in the Shire might be easier to swing than Tauriel accompanying her Dwarvish love to meet his mother as she and her people travel to their rightful home.”

Kíli colored easily at “Dwarvish lover” and a dopey smile lifted his cheeks.

“And Bilbo, you can sit by me when Amad dismembers Kíli!” Fíli said cheerfully.

Kíli’s retort to his brother’s comment was was drowned out by the sound a loud knock that sounded more like a body hitting the wood at full force, before the door swung open once more. 

“Oh for the love of!” Bilbo hissed, burying his face in his hands. “Who forgot to teach you lot how to knock?”

“There ye are,” Dwalin growled, ignoring Bilbo’s grousing. “I’ve been lookin’ all over this bloody maze for ye two!”

“Dwalin, great news!” Kíli exclaimed. “Bilbo’s coming with us!”

“Oh, ye are?” Dwalin questioned with raised eyebrows. “The pointy-ears will let ye go that easy?”

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose and thought that maybe his role as emissary was simply “don’t be Dwalin”. 

“King Thranduil will allow me to return to my home so that I may properly be settled into Erebor, and can therefore properly fulfill my duties, I am sure,” Bilbo replied. “And I’m not exactly going with you, I’ll just accompany you until I can make a detour to the Shire and tie up all the loose ends there.”

Dwalin paused for a moment, and considered Bilbo before breaking out into loud guffaws. 

“Oh Mahal have mercy on my brother,” he managed between great booming laughs. 

“I’m not even going to ask if I’m missing something, at this point. Because I don’t think I want to know anymore,” Bilbo said, more to himself than the Dwarves laughing heartily at, what he was sure, was his own expense. 

“Oh but that’s not all,” Fíli added, straightening up and nudging his brother in the ribs. “Tell him who else will be joining us, Kíli.”

Kíli’s face instantly drained of color and Bilbo did not envy him being on the other side of Dwalin’s stony glare. 

“Well, now it’s not for certain…” Kíli’s voice had an odd squeak to it. “But I just thought… well I figured if… Bilbo, a little help?”

“Oh, no no no, don’t you drag me into this,” Bilbo chuckled, relaxing into his chair.

“But you were the one with the brilliant plan!” Kili implored.

“I’m not the one who barged into your room to talk about it in the first place!”

“If yer trying to to tell me ye want the Elf to come with us, I’ve already talked with the lass about it,” Dwalin interrupted.

Once again, silence fell on the room, and Bilbo seriously began to wonder if Dwalin had possibly been slipped something during breakfast. 

“You.. talked… with Tauriel?” Kili spoke with a tone of abject terror. “Tauriel… the elf? You..” He shot a nervous glance to his brother and then Bilbo before regarding Dwalin as if he had begun to turn into a Warg. “You do know she is an Elf, right?”

Dwalin’s glower was fierce enough to cause Kili to shrink back onto the bed.

“I knew ye’d be too chicken to bring it up with me first,” Dwalin said. “But I knew what ye should be plannin’. If ye intent to carry through with this courtship, ye bet yer arse ye’ll be doing it correctly. That means introducing the lass to yer Amad.” 

“Yes, but why now?” Fíli questioned incredulously. 

“Because I respect yer Amad,” Dwalin replied with a cutting tone. “There will be enough for her to accept when she arrives in Erebor, an’ it won’t help a bit to have this to deal with as well without knowin’ what she’s dealin’ with before she gets there.” 

Bilbo blinked in surprise.

“That’s… awfully diplomatic of you, Dwalin.”

Dwalin shrugged, and a less-than-diplomatic grin spread across his face.

“Besides,” Dwalin continued. “Lady Dis still holds the throne at Ered Luin. Ye’ll be addressing a regent, as well as yer Amad.”

“And there it goes,” Bilbo muttered as Fili began to cackle.


	15. In which Thorin is not pleased, to the surprise of NO ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's days of battling dragons may be over, but there are new battles to be won, even if it means facing down the icy stare of an Elvenking. Thorin, on the other hand, uses his glower to try to convince the universe to give him back his Hobbit RIGHT THIS INSTANCE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are the sweetest people in the whole world, and your kind words were very much appreciated. Thank you for still reading Bagginshield, and for reading my contribution to this wonderful fandom :)

Though Bilbo had reassured Fíli and Kíli that Thranduil wouldn’t stand against his wish to visit the Shire, he had found himself practicing his speech to the King in his head as he waited outside the throne room.

Now that Bilbo considered what his request to leave with a trio of Dwarves might sound like to Thranduil, given his apparent suspicions that Thorin would attempt to kidnap him _honestly, of all the most ridiculous notions,_ Bilbo was a bit nervous himself. But if he could converse with a dragon, a quick chat with Thranduil wouldn’t be too much a challenge. Or so he told himself, as the doors to the throne room opened, and Bilbo stepped through with a quickening heartbeat. 

In the end, Thranduil had assented with a bored expression and a wave of his hand, once Bilbo had mentioned his intent to pass through Rivendell on the journey; a compromise which had been hard-won with Dwalin. Clearly, if Thranduil knew he could receive confirmation that the troupe was indeed headed for the Blue Mountains, and not Erebor, he was satisfied.

Until, however, Bilbo had gone and stuck his foot in his mouth.

_“I am surprised you are so eager to travel so soon,” Thranduil began. “I would have expected you to wish to remain in the East for some time.”_

_“Yes, well I’m certainly not going for want of more travel,” Bilbo chuckled. “And I expect this journey will be rather less exciting, at least on the way there. Especially with Tauriel there to make quick work of our travel through your kingdom.”_

_“I was unaware Tauriel had offered her services for this already,” Thranduil replied and Bilbo panicked slightly._

_If Thranduil would take issue with Tauriel accompanying them through the forest, he would surely refuse to allow her to travel with them to Ered Luin. And Yavanna preserve them all if he guessed the real reason behind her coming with them._

_“Oh, indeed!” Bilbo said with what he hoped was a cheery tone. “Very kind of her, don’t you think?”_

_The curl of Thranduil’s lips informed Bilbo that perhaps he should get to the point sooner, rather than later._

_“I ah… I do have more to ask of her, though. You see… I would feel much safer with Tauriel by my side. Not that… not that I feel unsafe with three Dwarves, of course!”_

_Oh, bugger._

_“I feel quite safe, in fact. With the Dwarves. They’re wonderful traveling companions, though without Bombur I’m dreading to think of what our meals will consist of. And let me tell you, if they think I’m cooking every night after traveling all day, ha! They should think twice!”_

_Bilbo wondered, momentarily, how it was that Thranduil’s stare had yet to reduce him to a pile of mush yet._

_“I do wonder, Mister Baggins,” Thranduil said in Bilbo’s pause. “If you might be willing to get to the point.”_

_“Ah, yes, that does seem advisable,” Bilbo agreed, loosening the collar of his shirt a bit. “I mean to request that Tauriel be allowed to accompany us, ah… me, to the Shire and back. For my own sake.”_

_As soon as the words were out of Bilbo’s mouth, he knew Thranduil had seen right through them, as Bilbo suspected he would._

_“I see,” Thandruil replied, icily enough to send a shiver down Bilbo’s spine. “Do send my Captain of the Guard in.”_

Bilbo, in possibly a moment of complete insanity, remained immobile in front of the throne, before having enough common sense to bow quickly and leave the throne room without breaking into a run. 

That night, Tauriel left the throne room with slightly red-rimmed eyes, but a determined set to her jaw and fire in her eyes. Bilbo knew she would tell him what had transpired in her own time, and had suggested to Kíli to allow her to do the same. 

With the plans completed, all of them packed, and Dwalin only grumbling about visiting Rivendell every two minutes, as opposed to one, the odd bunch was ready to leave come morning. 

Now, all that was left to do was to inform Thorin. A task that Bilbo had been trying to avoid. A task that was rather forced on him when Dwalin barged into his room and handed him leafs of paper, a pen, and an inkwell with a glare that left little room for argument. 

“Why do I have to tell him?” Bilbo had muttered as Dwalin turned to leave. Bilbo had insisted he would not be able to write with Dwalin glaring a hole in the back of his head the whole time, which Dwalin had initially settled down in a chair to do. 

“I’m not even goin’ to dignify that with an answer, Hobbit,” Dwalin said as he closed the door and left Bilbo staring petulantly at the blank sheet in front of him. 

It’s not that Bilbo didn’t _want_ to write to Thorin. The remnants of twenty-or-so failed attempts scattered in the dying fire were testament to how much Bilbo wanted to write to Thorin. It was more that Bilbo didn’t want to write _this_ particular letter. Because it meant Thorin would not be with him. And Bilbo was trying his very best to ignore that particular aspect of the trip. In fact, he was rather put-out with having to resort to letter-writing in order to communicate with Thorin. He would much rather have that stubborn, wonderful, grumpy, _unfairly good-looking_ Dwarf right next to him, to be able to tell him all that was on his mind. 

Not that Bilbo would ever be brave or rash enough to tell Thorin quite _everything_ on his mind. 

Maybe if he wrote to Thorin as simply the emissary to Mirkwood, that would make it easier. Yes, this was a matter of business. Not… 

Bilbo sighed.

This was not a matter of the heart, regardless of how much said heart might beg to differ.

With that, he poured himself another cup of strong tea, and began to write.

It wasn’t until much later that night, and with a blazing fire fueled by an embarrassing amount of parchment, did Bilbo hand off the letter to the awaiting raven just outside the entrance to the heavy outer doors of the fortress. 

He watched the raven take off into the night sky for as long as he could, until the black feathers became indistinguishable from the night sky. And he wondered, not for the first time that night, and he knew with certainty it would not be the last, what Thorin was doing, and if he spared a thought for a foolish Hobbit, who had chosen him and his mountain over his own cozy smial. 

—————————————————————

“You see, it’s not so difficult,” Bilbo said from his spot in front of the large kitchen work bench. The fire beneath the large pot crackled heartily, and Bilbo was aglow in its light. Thorin didn’t even attempt to look away from Bilbo’s face, and down to the pastry dough in his hands. Thorin knew this evening was meant to involve them cooking a meal together, but he was finding it hard to focus on anything except for Bilbo’s steady presence beside him. After Bilbo had peered over Thorin’s shoulder to see how he was coming along with his attempt at the dough, he had gasped in horror and firmly moved Thorin to sit at the other side of bench and observe.

But that was quite alright with Thorin. The warmth from the fire and the sound of Bilbo’s unrestrained laughter at Thorin’s stories of Fíli and Kíli’s childhoods was curling quite pleasantly inside Thorin’s chest. This simple evening with Bilbo felt precious beyond measure to Thorin, and he had long since stopped trying to control the grin on his face because of it. Though Thorin had feared feeling such a way might elicit darker, more possessive thoughts, he simply felt, instead, like he had been foolish to believe he knew the true meaning of _home_ before this moment. 

At some point, while Thorin had gotten lost in the way a single lock of Bilbo’s hair curled just below his ear and followed the line of his jaw, Bilbo had moved onto chopping vegetables. Thorin could hear the _tap tap tap_ of the knife against the smooth stone counter and knew he should be watching his movements. He knew this was important to Bilbo. He reminded himself to be more attentive next time as he reached across the kitchen bench and let his fingers find that softly curled lock of hair. 

Bilbo raised his eyes and the smile he gave Thorin took him apart completely, instantly. There was nothing else to do then, but move his hand to press against Bilbo’s cheek, for Bilbo to lean slightly into his palm. The _tap tap tap_ of the knife against the stone seemed to have grown louder, jarring almost, in such a soft moment. Thorin felt insulated from the rest of the world around him, except for the continuing _tap tap tap_.

 _Tap tap tap_.

 _ **Tap tap tap**_.

But Bilbo didn’t seem to notice. In fact, Thorin realized, he had set the knife down. 

_**Tap tap tap**_.

Bilbo just kept smiling at Thorin, as he lifted his hand to rest against the back of Thorin’s, still against Bilbo’s cheek. 

Thorin furrowed his brows in confusion, but Bilbo opened his mouth to speak and…

Cawed?

 _ **Tap tap tap**_. 

Thorin woke with a start, the kitchen dissipating like a cloud of smoke from his vision. He turned his head and tried to force his eyes into focus to find the source of that damn tapping and groaned.

He wasn’t sure when, or how, the crow had managed to get into his chambers, but it had apparently decided to entertain itself by rapping at its own reflection in the stone of Thorin’s bedside table. 

“What in Mahal’s name…” Thorin croaked, voice still thick with sleep. His mind was trying its best to burrow back into his dream, to find the warmth of the fire and Bilbo’s skin against his palm, but the only remnant of the dream that remained was a _tap tap tap_. 

The crow cawed again and hopped to the edge of the table, tilting its beak back and forth to consider Thorin with what looked suspiciously like boredom.  
 Thorin sighed heavily and made a mental note to draft an ordinance to ban letter deliveries by raven before the morning meal. Especially in personal chambers. Especially in the _royal chambers_ , for Mahal’s sake. 

“Can you speak?” Thorin questioned finally, lifting himself to sit with his back against the dark wood of the headboard. 

In response the raven stretched out its neck and cawed loudly, directly into Thorin’s ear. 

“Ach!” Thorin clapped one hand to his ear and used the other to shoo the raven back to the middle of the table. Thorin gave what he hoped was an intimidating glare, and not just a sleepy glower. 

“That was unnecessary,” Thorin said, as the bird began to preen itself. “Since you are incapable of speech, I assume you have a letter to give me?” 

The raven cawed loudly before grasping the string around a rolled parchment at its feet. Thorin could only yelp in an undignified manner and cover his face as the raven flapped its wings and landed on Thorin’s shoulder, letting the letter swing wildly in front of his face.

He managed to catch the parchment right before the raven released the string and flew off of Thorin’s shoulder, smacking him in the face with its wings. It landed on the floor in front of the heavy stone door and rapped against it. 

Thorin, who was strongly considering also banning mornings, threw the covers off in a huff and stomped over to the door, leaving the letter atop his pillows. 

“My feet are moving, there is no need to continue that insufferable tapping,” Thorin growled. The raven hopped back to allow Thorin to open the door, and with another loud caw, it flew through the door and out the open skylight of the antechamber. 

Thorin watched it blearily, until the white light of the clouds above swallowed the beating wings. Shutting the door, he wondered if this was possibly Balin’s version of revenge for keeping him up late into the night to help Thorin meticulously organize the guild requests, mine shaft updates, and repair progress reports that had been threatening to become chaotic. 

Balin had been kind enough not to complain or question Thorins request for his assistance, and Thorin had been glad for it. He knew his old friend had guessed Thorin had simply wanted to keep his mind busy, for when it was allowed to wander… Thorin insisted he was not moping as Balin suggested one day, but when his thoughts inevitably turned to Bilbo, or more specifically the absence of Bilbo, he could, at least, admit his mood did not fare better for it. He had been without Bilbo for almost 200 years, and yet now, as King of his people and with Erebor restored to him, Thorin craved Bilbo’s presence constantly. 

He shuffled back to the bed and retrieved the letter from his pillow, setting in on his desk before going through his morning routine. He imagined the letter was most likely from Dís, an update on how preparing those making the journey with her was faring. Or perhaps from Dain, though Thorin had yet to finish his reply to Dain’s last letter, so that was less likely. 

By the time Thorin was dressed for the day, he had concluded that the letter was indeed from his sister. So when he finally pulled the string and unrolled the parchment, it nearly slipped from his fingers as he froze in realization. 

The parchment, part his brain cataloged quietly while the rest of it continued to short circuit, smelled faintly of Elves. But the handwriting was distinctly Bilbo, and that was all that mattered.

Thorin raced through the letter, heart hammering in his chest even as his stomach began to drop.

He let out a breath, he had not realized he had been holding, slowly through his nose. Thorin had, of course, considered the possibility that Bilbo would need to return to the Shire at some point, but he had hoped it was a distant possibility, like Elves being reasonable or Fíli and Kíli not being hellions when left on their own. 

But now, as Bilbo told him easily, cheerily, in his letter, Thorin would not see Bilbo until he returned with the caravan from Ered Luin. 

_Months_.

He would not see Bilbo for months and he could already feel every fibre of his being growing weary of the separation. 

_I could write to him and tell him that he is needed here, that something has happened, something that would postpone his trip and…_

And what? Keep Bilbo locked in the mountain, as a prisoner against his will, feeding him lies to keep him near to Thorin? He could not do that to Bilbo, he would not give Bilbo any more reason to distrust him. 

And Thorin would give up the throne before he stood in Bilbo’s way from feeling free to go wherever he chose, but he had hoped, unfairly and unreasonably, that Erebor could take the Shire’s place in Bilbo’s heart.

At least he would be safe, with Dwalin and his sister’s sons traveling with him, he tried to reason.

 _Yes, he will be safe. But he won’t be_ here. 

Thorin ran his fingers along the words at the bottom of the parchment. 

Bilbo had signed, _“Yours faithfully”_ , and Thorin closed his eyes, imagining Bilbo writing those words, with Thorin on his mind. It did nothing to quell the growing sense of hollowness in his chest at the prospect of the long months ahead, but it was a sweet image nonetheless. 

And there was that signature, the same one penned to a contract that had pulled Bilbo away from his safe, warm smial and into the promise of dragon fire. 

What if Bilbo remembered the things he had not wanted to be parted with in the Shire? What if he decided that he didn’t want to give up his garden and the quiet calm of the Kindly West? What if Bilbo didn’t realize how much brighter he shined than even the sunniest of Shire days? 

Did Bilbo not have any qualms with being away from Thorin for so long while Thorin felt like any room without Bilbo in it was colder, darker?

Thorin heard the knock on the door, but did not move to answer it until it sounded a second time. He rolled the letter tightly, and replaced the string around it before standing. 

Balin’s face greeted him with a mischievous smile.

“I trust our Burglar is faring well in the Elvenking’s halls?” Balin asked before his smile fell, no doubt in response to Thorin’s dark expression.

“Ah,” Balin sighed. “I was hoping that letter might cheer you up but I assume…”

“It appears Master Baggins, has decided to return to his home,” Thorin replied, inwardly wincing at how hopeless that sounded. 

He noticed the shadow of a panicked look on Balin’s face for a fraction of a second before he cleared his throat and his expression became cautious. 

“Might I read the letter?” Balin asked. 

Thorin motioned for Balin to take a seat in one of the armchairs in the antechamber and retrieved the letter. He found himself holding it gingerly, as if it might fall to ashes between his fingertips, and with it perhaps the last words he would have from Bilbo for some time.

He plopped down heavily in the chair by Balin and handed him the parchment, staring in front of him at the stone of the fireplace while the old Dwarf read.

A minute later he heard Balin chuckle and Thorin jumped, wondering if maybe Balin had decoded a secret message in Bilbo’s words that revealed he was in fact returning to Thorin immediately. 

“ _Return to his home_ , really Thorin,” Balin shot him a look that was a mixture of pity and reprimand, that only Balin could master. “You make it sound as if he has no plans to turn right around once he gets to the Shire and come back to Erebor.” 

“Master Baggins is free to do as he wishes,” Thorin retorted. “And there is nothing to stop him from choosing to remain in his home once he gets there.”

“And I’m sure he will choose to do so,” Balin replied sharply. “In fact I am certain he has already chosen to do so.”

Thorin heard Balin’s words, had thought the same words himself not moments ago, and yet his mind screamed against them, refusing to let them take hold. But if Balin thought them true…

Then he had lost Bilbo, again. How could he have dared to hope to hold on to someone so bright and full of goodness? 

“Which is why I think you should not grieve his absence while he is gone, for he will soon be home again, amongst the rest of our kin.” 

Thorin whipped his head up and stared at Balin, who had stood and placed a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. Balin had always been a steady kindness in Thorin’s life, an unswerving source of wisdom. He trusted his friend’s council, but the words Balin spoke now promised something too sweet and hopeful for Thorin to allow himself to truly accept. Not with Bilbo headed to a land of well-worked soil and rolling hills of soft grass. 

“Though I do wish our Hobbit would arrive sooner to talks some sense into that stubborn head of yours, laddie,” Balin said with a warm chuckle. “But Hobbit or no, it is time for breakfast, and I’ll not have you keep me from Bombur’s cooking with anymore gloomy looks. Something I think Bilbo would heartily agree with.”

Thorin only nodded, trying to keep the hope of Balin’s words from taking root in his mind, though they had already begun to painfully grasp at his heart.  
Balin was already waiting for him at the door, so Thorin stood and gently tucked Bilbo’s letter into the pocket, sewn on the inside of his tunic. It rested there, against his chest, as he donned his robe and followed Balin into the hall. It was a poor substitute for having his bright, clever Hobbit by his side, but Thorin would at least have this small token of his One, while he traveled farther and farther away from Thorin each day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please shoot me a note if there is a typo! I don't have a Tolkien-based tumblr, but feel free to shoot me a message at puckthelaxteam, if you have any questions!


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